The long low boats set forth at midnight. When the boats moved from marsh to river, she could feel the difference in their motion, but beyond that, it was as if they floated between the worlds. By the time the sound of voices roused her, the sky was growing lighter. Before them rose the tree-clad hump of the Watch Hill. Already the birds were chorusing their own salutation to the coming day. As the first sliver of gold edged the eastern hills, the boatmen flung their torches into the water and Anderle began the song—How beautiful, how beautiful upon the horizon,
The Lord of Day is coming, robed in light!
Awaken, children of earth, as he arises.
Light fills the soul as it fills the land.
Awaken, oh my people, to light and to life.
She bent, hands moving in the Sign of salutation. Hail to thee, Manoah, Lord of Light. She called on the god by his ancient name. Touch the path we take today with power, that we may be protected from those who would wish us harm. Slowly her arms lifted as she stretched to embrace the light that spilled down the hillsides and lit the waters as if the torches had set them aflame.
Her breath caught as she felt that same fire ignite within her. Only afterward did she learn that to the others she had seemed limned in light. She turned to the north.
“As light blesses the land I invoke the spirits of this hill to ward against all foes.”
As she went back down the path, Anderle could feel the power she had raised spinning out behind her like a thread of light.
Men from the settlement below the hill waited to pole them on the return journey. This first leg was the longest, following the winding course of the river. To either side long grasses waved from a raised bog, interspersed with heather and a tangle of birch and alder. Dragonflies were already flitting above the water, and now and again a fish would leap to greet the day.
By the time they reached the low isle where once a great warrior had fought a spirit of darkness, the sun was halfway toward noon. They left an offering and made the short crossing to the hill of the wild powers. This place also was not meant for human habitation, though hunters came here sometimes to keep vigil and beg the favor of the powers who guarded the game. Some, it was said, came away with the favor of those powers, but others fled, maddened by sudden fears, and ran until they collapsed from exhaustion or the bog sucked them down.
Anderle sensed the spirit of the hill as a chaotic but not unfriendly energy. As she drew the sunfire past she felt it waken. If enemies come, fill them with your terror, she prayed. Witless and wandering may they find their doom! And it seemed to her that something on the island grinned in answer.
Now they wound their way southward through level lowlands. Herons stalked where the petals of the yellow flag curled on their proud stalks and the blue flowers of brooklime captured bits of sky. Just at the hour of noon they came to the Isle of Birds. Badger’s village was just beyond it, built out into the marsh to leave the solid ground for growing crops and grazing sheep.
The only structure on the hillock was a shrine. Flocks of clamoring waterfowl sought the air around her. As she scattered the grain that was their offering, they settled once more, gabbling in satisfaction. Anderle gazed back at the way they had come, strengthening her hold on the thread of power. She stood, hands lifted to the sky.
Hail to thee, brightness of the nooning,
Oh sun in thy splendor, ruler of the sky.
Each leaf and each blade, each bird and each beast
Lives by the love of the Lord of Light.
Blessed be the sun’s holy fire. . . .
When she returned to the boats, Willow Woman was waiting with food and drink. Redfern had come too, with Mikantor slung on one hip, gazing around him with the same eager curiosity as the ducklings that followed their mothers in chuckling lines among the reeds. As Anderle embraced the other woman, she dropped a kiss upon the boy’s brow.
“Rejoice in the Light, Son of a Hundred Kings. Can you see the shining web that stretches yonder? I am spinning it to protect you.” And though she knew her words could mean nothing to a child so young, it seemed to her that his eyes were tracking that invisible radiance across the waving reeds.
Leaving the village and the hill behind them, the boats turned westward toward the isle where the sacred oak tree grew. When age and the winds of winter brought an old tree down, an acorn that had been saved was carefully nurtured until it could stand alone against the storms. Here, the priestess poured out ale and tied a riband of fine linen around the trunk as the custom was, but she bound the line of light to the tree as well.
The sun was curving westward as they turned toward the Maiden’s Isle. Eran came down to meet her, in a clean tunic for once, for on this day the forge was cold, and the only fire burning was the one in the sky. As he saw her, his eyes grew wide.
“Lady, walk in the Light. . . .” He bowed.
Anderle smiled, for he was the first, except for the child, who had seen that she was attempting something more than the usual ritual.
“Mastersmith, I ask your blessing on my work, and the blessing of the Lady of the Forge.”
He bowed again and stepped aside to escort her into the smithy. The image of the goddess in the niche in the wall was shaped out of lead from the hills north of the Vale, with a cylindrical base to suggest a skirt and nubbins of breast on her torso. Years had blurred any features that might have been sketched beneath her headdress, but she stood like a priestess with upraised arms. This was one deity whom the People of Wisdom had not brought with them, but recognized as the upwelling spirit in the human heart and in the land. Eran had garlanded her niche with summer flowers. Anderle came to a halt, feeling the sun-thread as a warmth against her back, and reached out to gather and offer it to the power that image represented.
“Achi, Old One,” she murmured. “Here is another fire for you to hold. Strengthen this barrier and guard this land. Guard the child who is our hope, and when he is grown, forge the weapon that will bring him victory!”
She waited, and heard a rushing like the sound of the wind in the trees or the fire hissing in the coals. But the fire was out and the air was still, and the sound was a voice that whispered to her soul.
“In the crucible he will be tried, shaped in the mold, forged until he is a weapon fit for my hand.”
She must have staggered, for when she opened her eyes Eran was holding her arm and offering her water. She accepted it gratefully, but even to him she could not explain.
Only the Tor remained. Anderle could feel the tension as she climbed and circled the stones that crowned it, for the sun was beginning to sink toward the distant sea. But the power in the hill was stronger than she had ever felt it, as if eager to accept her binding. She stumbled down to the boats that waited to push off toward the Lake Village once more.
As they crossed the last open water toward the village, the sky was flaming with its own Midsummer fires. It had been a very long day and she felt weary to her bones, but the skein of light stretched taut behind her. The boat passed the village and drew up on the high ground beyond it. With the approach of night the birds had hidden themselves among the rushes, and the hilltop was very still. In the west, the sun set fire to the cloud banks above the distant sea. She slitted her eyes against that final blaze of glory as she chanted the evening hymn.
How beautiful, how beautiful upon the horizon,
The Lord of Light is descending, seeking his rest.
Sleep, oh children of earth, as earth is sleeping;
Light lives within you, lives in the land.
Sleep and find healing until he comes again.
As the last fiery sliver disappeared, she grasped the thread of light and linked it to the pulse flowing down from the Watch Hill where they had begun, a loop of power to safely bind the seven islands of the Vale of Avalon.
FOUR
Woodpecker! The Lady of Avalon is here!”
At his brother’s words Woodpecker’s eyes flew open and he surged upright, castin
g the blanket of woven rabbit skins aside. The shiny lady. . . . He always called her that in his mind, even though she was as small and dark of eyes and hair as any villager. She lived on the magic island to the south of the Lake Village. Maybe that was why light seemed to gather around her. Woodpecker belted his kilt, flung the rabbitskin blanket around his shoulders, for this early the spring air still held a chill, and followed his brother to the hearth.
“They got here last night,” chattered Grebe as they gulped down the hot porridge that Redfern insisted on setting before them. “I heard the voices.”
The shiny lady visited them once or twice a year. Somehow, things would always be arranged so that she saw him. Of course she saw all the village children, and sometimes there were sweets to go with her blessing, but Woodpecker always had the feeling that she was looking at him especially closely. It made him uneasy, as if he was different from the others. But he already knew that. There was something wrong with his hair. His mother kept it cut short, and every month she had to treat it with a medicine that left it dry and dull.
“Slow down,” panted Grebe as Woodpecker slung on his carry-sack and led the way toward the headman’s dwelling. “They won’t be awake yet. They were all up late talking.”
“How do you know?” mumbled Woodpecker.
“I woke up when Papa came in and I heard, of course. As usual, you slept through it all.”
“We’ll wait, then. I’ll play you at spellikins,” he added conciliatingly, hunkering down at the edge of the platform. He pulled out the bag his father had made for him from the skin of a vole, and tipped the bundle of slender sticks into his hand. It was a game of which his little brother, who was sure-handed though not strong, was very fond.
“Why do you care so much anyway?” asked Grebe as Woodpecker evened the ends and tossed them into the air.
“She’s pretty,” he answered as Grebe took first turn, flipping sticks aside with the carry-stick and collecting them in one hand. “Like somebody I saw in a dream.” He did not mention that sometimes the dreams were nightmares of fire and terror from which the bright lady rescued him. “And she gives me presents.”
“Oh ho!” said the younger boy, then swore as his hand twitched and a tangle of sticks began to roll apart. “Your turn—” he conceded, but Woodpecker was not listening.
The door to the headman’s house had opened, and she was there, talking to someone behind her. This time, though, was different. Beside her stood a girl, a little thing with light hair who carried with her the same kind of glow. The Lady turned, saw Woodpecker standing there, and smiled.
“Is that you, Woodpecker? You have grown!” The Lady of Avalon spoke the dialect of the Lake Village well.
As Grebe gathered up the spellikins Woodpecker shuffled his feet, recognizing the usual response adults gave when they did not know what to say. In his case it was usually true. He was as tall as Redfern’s oldest boy, who was twelve and went hunting with the men.
“This is my daughter, Tirilan,” the Lady said then. “Will you be kind to her and show her the village? But don’t let her fall into the Lake—Tiri cannot swim.”
Woodpecker and Grebe exchanged glances. The girl was small, but she must be at least six. By that age every child of the Lake Village could swim like a frog.
“We’ll take care of her,” Grebe said brightly, and earned another smile.
“Come on, then,” muttered Woodpecker, leading the way back toward his mother’s house, though he had no idea what they were going to do.
“Why are you called Woodpecker?” Tiri asked, using the mode of speech of the tribes. At least she was not shy.
“ ’ Cause I always get into things, I guess,” he replied, wishing he had paid more attention to Willow Woman’s lessons in the tribal tongue.
“I thought it was maybe because your hair sticks out around your head like a baby bird.”
There was no malice in her tone, but he could feel himself flushing angrily. “You look all pale and thin, like something under log. I think I call you Worm!”
“Are you going to gobble me up?” she retorted. “I’d like to see you try!”
He blinked; she seemed to be growing brighter. “A glowworm, maybe, warns off things that want to eat her ’cause she taste bad!”
She frowned, as if trying to work out whether that was another insult or a compliment.
By the time they reached Redfern’s door, more children had joined them. Beaver, who at nine was almost as big as Woodpecker and inclined to challenge him; Alder, a leggy girl with a long black braid who looked at Tiri as if she had come from another world; and Goosey and Gander, who were twins.
“Does your name have meaning?” asked Alder when they had made introductions.
“Our names have meanings in the old language of the Wise,” responded the girl from Avalon with her first smile. “Mine means ‘sweet singer.’ My father was a bard.”
Woodpecker blinked and looked away. Definitely shiny, he thought, like her mother. It must be nice to know where your talents and features came from. He loved his parents dearly, but he found it hard to see anything of himself in them at all.
“We can teach her to swing from the branch of the willow tree?” asked Beaver.
“If it breaks she’ll fall in and she can’t swim and anyway the water is still cold,” Alder replied.
“We could go out in a boat,” Goosey offered shyly. He turned to the girl. “Have you seen marshes? They real pretty in spring.”
“But she can’t swim,” objected Grebe.
“She had to go in a boat to get here, didn’t she?” growled Woodpecker, though he would have believed it if they had told him the Lady of Avalon could fly. “You can hold on to her if you’re afraid she’ll fall in.”
“I would like to see the marshes,” Tiri said clearly. “Do you paddle, or push your boats with a pole?”
Woodpecker looked at her with more respect. At least she knew something about boats. “Not tall enough to use pole well,” he admitted, “but I paddle fast. I win boys’ race at Midsummer last year.” Beaver, whom he had beaten in that race, glowered.
“We don’t need to go fast, Woodpecker, just safe,” said Alder repressively. “Come on!”
The folk of the Lake Village were too accustomed to the gaggle of chattering children to notice the golden head among them as they scrambled down the ladders and piled into the long low boats that the villagers carved from the trunks of trees. Woodpecker helped Tiri to get into the boat behind him with Grebe and Alder, while Beaver and the twins took the other craft.
“There was wooden trackways through marshes,” said Alder as they eased away from the pilings. “But they are underwater for long time now. Boats better. You go anywhere!”
Tiri gripped the sides as they slipped past the new green reeds and sedges that were pushing up through the yellow tangle where last year’s crop had been cut for thatching, but settled back when a long stroke of the paddle sent the craft into the open water beyond. They called it a lake, but it was nowhere very deep, a sheet of water covering the low-lying ground to the west of the Isle of Birds and the Tor. The water glimmered with a nacreous sheen beneath the pale sky.
“Where are you taking us?” Tiri asked.
“If lucky, see animals,” he replied. “The birds come north—” He pointed to a flock of mixed waterfowl bobbing on the water. Beyond them a flicker of white emerged from behind some reeds. “Look, a swan!”
More careful strokes brought them around the northern edge of the Isle of Birds and into what gradually resolved into a sluggish stream that fed into the lake from the rising ground to the north where fen carr and raised bog supported a tangle of trees.
“Will we see bears?”
“Do you want to?” He looked at her in surprise. She might seem weak and pale, but he was beginning to suspect that she had more spirit than any of them. He usually had to work pretty hard to persuade the others when he had a really interesting plan.
“We h
ave a legend that there was once a bear, or maybe a bear spirit, that lived in a cave on Avalon.”
“I never hear of bear in the marshes,” observed Alder. “I think too wet for them, especially now. On higher ground sometimes deer.”
“Oh . . .” Tiri said dismissively. “Well, it is very pretty here.”
Stung, Woodpecker frowned. “You want excitement?” he said slowly. “We go to Wild God’s Isle!”
“It’s forbidden!” Grebe exclaimed. “We can’t go there!”
“You can go back in the other boat with Beaver if you’re afraid,” Woodpecker said over his shoulder, digging the paddle into the water and driving the boat forward. A squawking pintail duck flurried up from the reeds as they passed, and Tirilan laughed.
“It’s too far—” said Alder.
“No farther than from here back to the Tor,” he answered, though he supposed it would take longer to thread his way through the fen than to cross the open lake. He had only made this journey twice, since he’d been old enough to accompany the Midsummer warding, and winter floods could change the channels, but all the children of the Lake had a good sense of direction. He could feel the invisible link between the sacred islands. If he followed it he would reach his goal.
“What will we find on this forbidden isle?” Tiri sounded amused.
“Wild things,” Alder said tartly.
“Spirits—” added Grebe. “Sometimes they drive people mad.”
“My mother commands spirits,” Tirilan said dismissively. “You can’t scare me with that tale.”
Woodpecker was sure that was true, but her mother was not here. Distracted, he let the boat graze a hidden stump and dug the paddle into the water to ease it away. The craft was solid enough, but could easily be overturned.
By the time they neared the ridge of higher ground from which the hill rose, it was nearly noon and the breakfast porridge seemed very far away. Still, the marshes held food for those who knew how to find it. They would have to keep their eyes open when they reached the isle.
Sword of Avalon: Avalon Page 6
