The Mists of Avalon

by Marion Marion Bradley

  Morgaine printed a final kiss on Nimue's brow and the little girl trotted away obediently at Lheanna's side. Morgaine felt a darkening mist before her eyes; Niniane gave her an arm and said, "Lean on me. Come with me to my quarters where you can rest."

  Niniane brought her to the dwelling that had once been Viviane's, and to the little room where the priestesses in attendance on the Lady of the Lake slept in their turn. Alone, Morgaine managed to collect herself. For a moment she wondered if Niniane had brought her to these quarters to emphasize that she, not Morgaine, was Lady of the Lake ... then stopped herself; that kind of intrigue was for the court, not for Avalon. Niniane had simply given her the most convenient and secluded of the rooms available. Once Raven had dwelt here, in her consecrated silence, so that Viviane might teach her ... .

  Morgaine washed the grime of travel from her weary body, wrapped herself in the long robe of undyed wool which she found lying across the bed, and even ate some of the food they brought, but did not touch the warmed and spiced wine. There was a stone water jar at the side of the fireplace, and she dipped out a ladleful, drinking, with tears in her eyes.

  The priestesses of Avalon drink only waterfront the Sacred Well.... Again she was the young Morgaine, sleeping within the walls of her own place. She went to bed and slept like a child.

  She never knew what woke her. There was a step in the room, and silence. By the last flicker of the dying firelight and the flooding light of the moon through the shutters, she saw a veiled form, and for a moment she thought that Niniane had come to speak with her; but the hair that flowed over the shoulders was long and dark and the dark face beautiful and still. On one hand she could see the darkened, thickened patch of an ancient scar ... Raven! She sat up and said, "Raven! Is it you?"

  Raven's fingers covered her lips, in the old gesture of silence; she came to Morgaine's side, bent over her and kissed her. Without a word, she threw off her long cloak and lay down at Morgaine's side, taking her in her arms. In the dimness Morgaine could see the rest of the scars running up along the arm and across the pale heavy breast ... neither of them spoke a word, then, nor in the time that followed. It seemed that the real world and Avalon had both slipped away, and again she was in the shadows of the fairy country, held close in the arms of the lady.... Morgaine heard in her mind the words of the ancient blessing of Avalon, as Raven touched her slowly, with ritual silence and significance, and the sound seemed to shiver around her in the silence. Blessed be the feet that have brought you to this place... blessed the knees that shall bend before her altar ... blessed be the gate of Life ... .

  And then the world began to flow and change and move around her, and for a moment it was not Raven in the silence, but a form edged in light, whom she had seen once, years before, at the time when she crossed the great silence ... and Morgaine knew that she too was glowing in light ... still the deep flowing silence. And then it was only Raven again, lying close to her with her hair perfumed with the herbs they used in the rites, one arm flung over her, her silent lips just touching Morgaine's cheek. Morgaine could see that there were long pale streaks of white in the dark hair.

  Raven stirred and raised herself up. Still she did not speak, but she took from somewhere a silver crescent, the ritual ornament of a priestess. Morgaine knew, with a catch of breath, that it was the one she had left on her bed in the House of Maidens on that day when she had fled forth from Avalon with Arthur's child in her womb ... silent, after a gasp of half-voiced protest, she let Raven bind it about her neck; but Raven showed her briefly, by the last glint of the setting moon, the flash of a knife blade bound about her own waist. Morgaine nodded, knowing that Viviane's ritual knife would never again while she lived leave her side; she was content that Raven should bear the one she herself had abandoned until one day she saw it bound about Nimue's waist.

  Raven took the little razor-sharp knife, and Morgaine watched, stilled into a dream, as she raised it; so be it, even if she wishes here to shed my blood before the Goddess I tried to flee ... but Raven turned the knife toward her own throat; from the breastbone she pricked a single drop of blood, and Morgaine, bowing her head, took the knife and made a slight cut over her heart.

  We are old, Raven and I, we shed blood no longer from the womb but from the heart ... and wondered afterward what she had meant. Raven bent to her and licked the blood away from the small cut; Morgaine bent and touched her lips to the small, welling stain at Raven's breast, knowing that this was a sealing long past the vows she had taken when she came to womanhood. Then Raven drew her again into her arms.

  I gave up my maidenhood to the Horned One. I bore a child to the God. I burned with passion for Lancelet, and Accolon created me priestess anew in the plowed fields which the Spring Maiden had blessed. Yet never have I known what it was to be received simply in love.... It seemed to Morgaine, half in a dream, that she lay in the lap of her mother ... no, not Igraine, but welcomed back into the arms of the Great Mother ... .

  When she woke she was alone. Opening her eyes into the sunlight of Avalon, weeping with joy, she wondered for a moment if she had dreamed. Yet over her heart was a small stain of dried blood; and on the pillow beside her lay the silver crescent, the ritual jewel of a priestess, which she had left when she fled from Avalon. Yet surely Raven had bound it about her throat ... .

  Morgaine tied it around her neck on its slender thong. It would never leave her again; like Viviane, she would be buried with this about her neck. Her fingers shook as she knotted the leather, knowing this was a reconsecration. There was something else on the pillow, and for a moment it shifted and changed, an unopened rosebud, a blown rose, and when Morgaine took it into her hand, it was the rose-hip berry, full and round and crimson, pulsing with the tart life of the rose. As she watched, it shrank, withered, lay dried in her hand; and Morgaine suddenly understood.

  Flower and even fruit are only the beginning. In the seed lies the life and the future.

  With a long sigh, Morgaine tied the seed into a scrap of silk, knowing that she must go forth again from Avalon. Her work was not completed, and she had chosen the place of her work and her testing when she fled forth from Avalon. One day, perhaps, she might return, but that time had not yet come.

  And what I am must be hidden, as the rose lies hidden within the seed. She rose then and put on the garments of the queen. The robe of a priestess should be hers again one day, but she had yet to earn again the right to wear it. Then she sat and waited for Niniane to summon her.

  WHEN SHE CAME into the central room where she had faced Viviane so often, time swooped and circled and turned on itself so that for a moment it seemed to Morgaine that she must see Viviane sitting where she had so often sat, dwarfed by the high seat and yet impressive, filling the whole room ... then she blinked, and it was Niniane there, tall and slight and fair; it seemed to Morgaine that Niniane was no more than a child, sitting in play in the high seat.

  And then what Viviane had said to her when she stood before her, so many years ago, suddenly rushed over her: you have reached a stage where obedience may be tempered with your own judgment ... and for a moment it seemed to her that her best judgment was to turn aside now, to say to Niniane only such words as might reassure her. And then the surge of resentment came over her at the thought that this child, this foolish and ordinary girl in the dress of a priestess, was presuming to sit where Viviane had sat and to give orders in the name of A valon. She had been chosen only because she was of the blood of Taliesin ... . How does she dare sit here and presume to give orders to me ... ?

  She looked down at the girl, knowing, without being certain how, that she had taken upon herself the old glamour and majesty, and then, with a sudden surge of the Sight, it seemed to her that she read Niniane's thoughts.

  She should be here in my place, Niniane was thinking, how can I speak with authority to Queen Morgaine of the Fairies ... and the thought was blurred, half with awe of the strange and powerful priestess before her, and half with simple res
entment, if she had not fled from us and forsworn her duty, I would not now be struggling to fill a place for which we both know I am not fit.

  Morgaine came and took her hands, and Niniane was surprised at her gentle voice.

  "I am sorry, my poor girl, I would give my very life to return here and take the burden from you. But I cannot, I dare not. I cannot hide here and shirk my given task because I long for my home." It was no longer arrogance, nor contempt for the girl who had been thrust, unwilling, into the place which should have been hers, but simple pity for her. "I have begun a task in the West country which must be completed-if I leave it half done, it were better it had never been begun. You cannot take my place there, and so, may the Goddess help us both, you must keep my place here." She bent and embraced the girl, holding her tight. "My poor little cousin, there is a fate on us both, and we cannot escape it ... if I had stayed here, the Goddess would have worked with me one way, but even when I tried to flee my sworn duty, she brought it upon me elsewhere ... none of us can escape. We are both in her hands, and it is too late to say it would have been better the other way ... she will do with us as she will."

  Niniane held rigidly aloof for a moment, then her resentment melted and she clung to Morgaine, almost as Nimue had done. Blinking back tears, she said, "I wanted to hate you-"

  "And I, you, perhaps ... " Morgaine said. "But she has willed otherwise, and before her we are sisters...." Hesitantly, her lips reluctant to speak the words which had been withheld for so long, she added something else, and Niniane bent her head and murmured the proper response. Then she said, "Tell me of your work in the West, Morgaine. No, sit here beside me, there is no rank between us, you know that ... ."

  When Morgaine had told her what she could, Niniane nodded. "Something of this I heard from the Merlin," she said. "In that country, then, men turn again to the old worship ... but Uriens has two sons, and the elder is his father's heir. Your task then is to make certain that Wales has a king from Avalon-which means that Accolon must succeed his father, Morgaine."

  Morgaine closed her eyes and sat with bent head. At last she said, "I will not kill, Niniane. I have seen too much of war and bloodshed. Avalloch's death would solve nothing-they follow Roman ways there now, since the priests have come, and Avalloch has a son."

  Niniane dismissed that. "A son who could be reared to the old worship -how old is he, four years old?"

  "He was so when I came to Wales," said Morgaine, thinking of the child who had sat in her lap and clung to her with his sticky fingers and called her Granny. "Enough, Niniane. I have done all else, but even for Avalon, I will not kill."

  Niniane's eyes flamed blue sparks at her. She raised her head and said, warning, "Never name that well from which you will not drink!"

  And suddenly Morgaine realized that the woman before her was priestess, too, not merely the pliant child she had seemed; she could not be where she was, she could never have passed the tests and ordeals which went into the making of a Lady of Avalon, if she had not been acceptable to the Goddess. With unexpected humility, she realized why she had been sent here. Niniane said, almost in warning, "You will do what the Goddess wills when her hand is laid upon you, and that I know by the token you bear ... " and her eyes rested upon Morgaine's bosom as if she could see through the folds of the gown to the seed which lay there, or to the silver crescent on its leather thong. Morgaine bent her head and whispered, "We are all in her hands."

  "Be it so," said Niniane, and for a moment it was so silent in the room that Morgaine could hear the splash of a fish in the Lake beyond the borders of the little house. Then she said, "What of Arthur, Morgaine? He bears still the sword of the Druid Regalia. Will he honor his oath at last? Can you make him honor it?"

  "I do not know Arthur's heart," Morgaine said, and it was a bitter confession. I had power over him, and I was too squeamish to use it. I flung it away.

  "He must swear again to honor his oath to Avalon, or you must get the sword from him again," said Niniane, "and you are the only person living to whom this task might be entrusted. Excalibur, the sword of the Holy Regalia, must not remain in the hands of one who follows Christ. You know Arthur has no son by his queen, and he has named the son of Lancelet, Galahad by name, to be his heir, since now the Queen grows old."

  Morgaine thought, Gwenhwyfar is younger than I, and I might still bear a child if I had not been so damaged in Gwydion's birth. Why are they so certain she will never bear? But before Niniane's certainty she asked no questions. There was magic enough in Avalon, and no doubt they had hands and eyes at Arthur's court; and indeed the last thing they would wish would be that the Christian Gwenhwyfar should bear Arthur a son ... not now.

  "Arthur has a son," said Niniane, "and while his day is not yet, there is a kingdom he can take-a place to begin the recapture of this land for Avalon. In the ancient ways, the king's son meant little, the son of the Lady was all, and the king's sister's son was his heir ... know you what I mean, Morgaine?"

  Accolon must succeed to the throne of Wales. Morgaine heard it again, and then what Niniane did not say: And my son ....s the son of King Arthur. Now it all made sense. Even her own barrenness after Gwydion's birth. But she asked, "What of Arthur's heir-Lancelet's son?"

  Niniane shrugged and for a moment Morgaine wondered, horrified, whether it was intended to give Nimue the same hold on Galahad's conscience that she had been given on Arthur's.

  "I cannot see all things," said Niniane. "Had you been Lady here- but time has moved on and other plans must be made. Arthur may yet honor his oath to Avalon and keep the sword Excalibur, and then there will be one way to proceed. And he may not, and there will be another way which she will prepare, to which end we each have our tasks. But whether or no, Accolon must come to rule in the West country, and that is your task. And the next king will rule from Avalon. When Arthur falls-though his stars say he will live to be old-then the king of Avalon will rise. Or else, the stars say, such darkness will fall over this land that it will be as if he had never been. And when the next king takes power, then will Avalon return into the mainstream of time and history ... and then there will be a subject king over the western lands, ruling his Tribespeople. Accolon shall rise high as your consort-and it is for you to prepare the land for the great king from Avalon."

  Again Morgaine bowed her head and said, "I am in your hands."

  "You must return now," said Niniane, "but first there is one you must know. His time is not yet ... but there will be one more task for you." She raised her hand, and as if he had been waiting in an anteroom, a door opened and a tall young man came into the room.

  And at the sight Morgaine caught her breath, with a pain so great that it seemed for a moment that she could not breathe. Here was Lancelet reborn -young and slender as a dark flame, his hair curling about his cheeks, his narrow dark face smiling ... Lancelet as he had been on that day when they lay together in the shadow of the ring stones, as if time had slipped and circled back as in the fairy country ... .

  And then she knew who it must be. He came forward and bent to kiss her hand. His walk was Lancelet's too, the flowing movements that seemed almost a dance. But he wore the robes of a bard, and on his forehead was the small tattoo of an acorn crest, and about his wrists the serpents of Avalon writhed. Time reeled in her mind.

  If Galahad is to be king in the land, is my son then the Merlin, tanist and dark twin and sacrifice? For a moment it seemed she moved among shadows, king and Druid, the bright shadow who sat beside Arthur's throne as queen, and herself who had borne Arthur's shadow son ... Dark Lady of power.

  She knew anything she said would be foolish. "Gwydion. You are not like your father."

  He shook his head. "No," he said, "I bear the blood of Avalon. I looked once on Arthur, when he made a pilgrimage to Glastonbury of the priests -I went there unseen in a priest's robe. He bows overmuch to the priests, this Arthur our king." His smile was fleeting, feral.

  "You have no reason to love either of your parent
s, Gwydion," said Morgaine, and her hand tightened on his, but she surprised a fleeting look in his eyes, icy hatred ... then it was gone and he was the smiling young Druid again.

  "My parents gave me their best gift," Gwydion said, "the royal blood of Avalon. And one more thing I ask of you, lady Morgaine." Irrationally she wished he had called her, just once, by the name of Mother.

  "Ask, and if I can give, it is yours."

  Gwydion said, "It is not a great gift. Surely not more than five years hence, Queen Morgaine, you will lead me to look on Arthur and let him know that I am his son. I am aware"-a quick, disturbing smile-"that he cannot acknowledge me as his heir. But I wish him to look on the face of his son. I ask no more than that."

  She bent her head. "Surely I owe you that much, Gwydion."

  Gwenhwyfar might think what she liked-Arthur had already done penance for this. No man could be other than proud of this grave and priestly young Druid. Nor should she ... after all these years, she knew it ... feel shame for what had been, as now she knew she had felt it all these years since she fled from Avalon. Now that she saw her son grown, she bowed before the inevitability of Viviane's Sight.

  She said, "I vow to you that day will come, I swear it by the Sacred Well." Her eyes blurred, and angrily she blinked back the rebellious tears. This was not her son; Uwaine, perhaps, was her son, but not Gwydion. This dark, handsome young man so like the Lancelet she had loved as a girl, he was not her son looking for the first time on the mother who had abandoned him before he was weaned; he was priest and she priestess of the Great Goddess, and if they were no more to each other than that, at least they were no less.

  She put her hands to his bent head and said, "Be thou blessed."

  13

  Queen Morgause had long ceased to repine that she had not the Sight. Yet twice, in the last days of falling leaves, when the red larch trees stood bare in the icy wind that blew over Lothian, she dreamed of her foster-son Gwydion; and she was not at all surprised when one of her servant folk told her that a rider was on the road.