Voices of the Stars

by Rowena Whaling

  Last week I learned some troubling news – new aggressive bands of Teutons have been attacking small villages on our Southeastern shores, trying to dispossess our native folk. Or perhaps Mordred has broken the pact of peace by beginning aggression against the Saxons aligned with Hengist’s Kingdom. Rumours of Mordred trying to usurp his Father’s crown have been spreading like a great Fire across the lands.

  The younger lords aligning themselves with Mordred complain that their armour, swords, and pikes grow rusty with disuse. They hunger for the glory of battle which their Sires had... fools! They think not of the costs of war! Because of Arthur, Bedwyr, The Merlin and all of the loyal Chieftains and Companions, we have had peace for... is it almost ten years now? Blessed peace! These young fools remember not what it was like before. Pray Morganna’s machinations do not prove to be our undoing.

  Is this now what she has been waiting for? It is said that each year Mordred becomes more devoted to her and caught up in her Glamour. Some even say it is a perverse and unholy relationship.

  I tire now...

  Morgan, below is the genealogy so hard to come by, of the almost five hundred years of the Hebrews of the Languedoc. It shows that Arthur’s lineage, and thus Ambrosius Aurelius’ are linked with an ancient King of Jerusalem. Please, Morgan, while you live, follow and add to this if you can, until your histories are hidden – as have you planned – for a future age.

  May the truth of these matters be known and may someone care. But remember this... distasteful as it may seem to you, Prince Mordred is of these same blood lines, in fact, through your Father – Morganna’s Father – he holds yet another strand of rightful Kingship, even beyond that of Arthur’s.

  A lesson for you Morgan – perhaps the last I might teach you: Sometimes things do not go the way of our wishes, but then, new gateways open beyond our hopes and expectations. Keep track of Mordred’s blood, of his descendents, if there be any. This is not just for me, Morgan. This I have been admonished to tell you. Somehow the Spirits of the Crossroads have new wonders yet to unfold. But these works will be yours and not mine.

  These genealogies are now held for safe keeping in the Order’s library. Upon my Death, or at the Time of your handing your Histories down to the next Keeper, you must include these into them.

  Chapter 36

  Oh, Mordred

  Morgan

  By one Moon’s Dance after the turning of the year our Lake was frozen solid, which made things very difficult for everyone living on the Isle and all those who depended upon our foodstuffs. As it so happens, the Marsh folk have devised a means of using woven mats covered by heavy Sheep pelts, pulled by ropes and pushed by reed poles, so as to bring these supplies to the villages around us, as well as to the Christian Women’s Monastery and to the old Monk’s cell. Our brothers help to convey foodstuffs such as Apples, honey, mead, cheese and the like to these.

  The last thing our brothers did on their charitable journey was to visit the old Monk living in his nearby cell – which was nothing but a very small Cave with no real closure or heat source. Our Brothers, at great length, persuaded the old Monk, who was a hold-over follower of Pelagius, to come to our order for the Winter so that he would not freeze to Death.

  When they returned it was with the news that Queen Gwenyfar was on Death’s bed. I immediately sent messages to Arthur, but due to the Ice and Winds, they did not reach him in Time. When Arthur and Bedwyr arrived, Arthur informed us that the Queen had died a week before he got to her. She had already been buried. I wondered if the world would remember that there had ever even been a Queen Gwenyfar – much less take note of her Death.

  While Arthur was here he confirmed that already he had been informed of the ill rumours of impending War.

  “Just as a plague, they spread from village to farm to town...”

  Bedwyr, too, had warned Arthur of a dreaded battle to come – led by “Mordred the Usurper.” Arthur corrected him; “Prince Mordred, Bedwyr – my son and heir.

  “I must try to make peace with him. But, let it be understood now between us – as I have already written and placed in the care of The Merlin – as well as Lady Vivianne and Morgan – that should my peace-making go awry and should Mordred kill me, I have named you, Bedwyr, as my heir… and your sons and daughters after. In that case, his treasonous actions will have proven that he is no lover of our so hard fought for alliance of peace.”

  I made great note that Bedwyr did not contradict or try to reassure Arthur of a good outcome. A look passed between them then; a look of a deep acknowledgement of an end.

  Bedwyr finally broke their silence – “But what of Gwyddion?”

  Arthur smiled...

  “He could have been King all along, if he had accepted it. We all know that he had the best claim of blood! Caledfwlch was rightfully his.”

  “Yes, but he did not have the blood of the Tribes. No, you, Arthur, are our true King, you are the one ordained by the Weavers – The Summer King, the promised one – Caledfwlch sings for you. Even though a man may be High King beyond your life Arthur, he will never be this.”

  Bedwyr wiped his eyes and sent a dagger straight through my heart.

  Arthur replied thoughtfully – “My dearest ones, I have often and diligently pondered this question – If everything exists as part of the Great ONE, then it would follow that everything including our thoughts, words, deeds, even feelings – once experienced – is a thread of the great fabric of HER Creation... that which is ever expanding until the end of this epoch. Well then, my question is this: Is Love not a piece – a thread – of this Cosmos also? Once made or felt, it has been given life, breath, substance... I have heard a lover say of another in their weeping and moaning – ‘My lover Loves me no longer. Their Love for me has died.’ Their meaning is that their lover’s Love has vanished into nothingness, has un-become. How could this be? Do you understand my meaning? A living thing cannot vanish, as all things of the Goddess return. So where does Love go when it ‘dies’?

  “Nearing now the end of this earthly life of mine... No, no, do not protest, Morgan... Bedwyr... I am no Seer but I see it in both of your eyes and I know that you know my Death is nigh. So, having had the Time allotted to me to ponder this question, I have come to the conclusion that Love never dies. Once created between people or Spirits it always lives and remains. So I ask this, will you two share a pact with me? That ,so far as we may remember – I mean hold it in our power to remember – we will always Love each other in future lives? I make this promise of forever and a Day to you, my beloveds. By whatever form this Love takes, I will give it to you. Will you promise this to me, as well?”

  So stunned was I! ...that Arthur knew what I had known for years – ours was an eternal Love.

  “Yes,” said I.

  Bedwyr choked out, “Yes Bear, I would Love you as well.”

  “Then you two, who are far more Gifted than I in these matters, will have to help me find you and remember!”

  This broke the tension and we smiled. Bedwyr and I knew better than to argue with Arthur about such things. His shining greatness was accompanied by humility far beyond what was due. Arthur was brilliant! And not only in his thinking abilities... but in all that is of most value regarding Human worth.

  That very evening, two unexpected visitors arrived; Gwyddion and Nimue. They were together, I mean, as one. They told us of their Dreams, their meeting, and their great and passionate Love for one another. So, Gwyddion had found Love at last! If it is right, and the will of the Gods – and for their sake, I hope this is true – what a wonder and great blessing it is for both of them.

  “May you Love and be joyful in each other forever.”

  I knew that this blessing that I bestowed upon them would not be granted to me in this life.

  My Fears...

  Political tensions had swelled like a wave in an angry Sea. Not a usual wave as from a Storm, but the kind that comes so rarely – and why and from whence no one knows – a great wave t
hat builds and builds in strength and height until it devours and devastates everything in its path – coastal farms and villages, even cities – leaving nothing in its wake. Once in my life, when I was a child, I had heard of one of these. In my great, great Grandmother’s Time there had been such a one, which came in from the South-Southwest toward our lands. The storytellers still speak of it. Just so, for the past three Moon Dances, a great line was ‘being drawn in the dirt,’ between cousins, uncles and nephews, brothers, Fathers and sons, and even Grandfathers. Some were remaining loyal to Arthur’s Alliance while others were beguiled by Mordred and Morganna’s promise of the young overtaking Gaul and the wiping out of three generations of Hengist’s Saxon Kingdom on our lands. War fury and battle lust, violence against innocent farmers and herdsmen who refused to side with Mordred was becoming a daily deed. A black fog was spreading across our lands. Even rape and pillage was on the rise so that no one felt safe. Then the murmur began, that “King Arthur and his Merlin were not protecting the people against lawlessness – so perhaps the Gods were taking their revenge upon them for past wicked deeds.”

  I was heartsick, how could things have turned this way? But, of course, it was all of Morganna’s Making.

  Upon one Twilit evening, I ran to the Stone Circle atop the Tor. I prayed fervently. Angrily, frantically I beat my fists upon the Altar Stone. Then I looked up and raised my voice. With hands open in supplication I asked – “Great Star Goddess, Divine One of Fathomless Beauty, could these things be written as such in the movements of your Heavens? I was told once by the Voices that upon the Night of Arthur’s birth his Stars were crossed. Each living being has a lifespan, this we must all respect, but – The Dream – is it to die too? Tell me this is not so!”

  Are Humans less honourable than Beasts? Beasts kill for food and to protect their young – never for greed, envy, or sport. Men fight and argue over who owns the land... but no one owns the land! The land owns Herself and shares Her bounty and shelter with Humans and Beasts alike. Arthur and his companions of men and women, Chieftains, Kings and Queens, sought only for peace amoung all peoples who shared these lands, even the folk of the Saxon Kingdom who had been invited here to live peacefully amoung us. Morganna Le Faye has blinded Prince Mordred to the truth.

  So I, Morgan, now, at this place and Time, do take the risk – at the peril of my future lives – by the power of my will, by the power of three, at whatever the cost, do command Prince Mordred to speak with me, one more Time before our Deaths so that I might right the wrongs he believes of his Father. Whatever the price, so must it be!

  Lightning struck the oldest Oak in my sight and rent it in two. Then the Thunder boomed and rumbled. I felt the Earth quake beneath my feet. The shaking continued and the tall Stones around me wobbled to and fro. I was thrown from my feet and back down upon the Altar – the green Star Stone – belly up like a sacrifice awaiting the slaughter. One by one the tall Stones in the circle began to topple and crack, the Stars above me began to spiral as if in a whirlwind. A face emerged in their patterns: the Star Goddess! Fearsome and utterly beautiful was She. Strands of her long hair slung around her, or were they Stars? Her eyes opened and stared at me, her gaze burned me to ash, my consciousness hung above my ruined body. Looking on in utter amazement as Time flew by... centuries later... A Christian tower stood where once the Circle of Stones had been, it had been built atop the Star Stone, now deeply buried beneath its foundation. But the Tor itself was indestructible. Its Dragon Lines were strong as ever. Here, there was peace.

  Fair haired and fair skinned people walked the dirt path spiraling upward. There were very dark skinned and very dark haired people too... people from the Far East, people from the exotic land of Morganna’s great pearl, people of all kinds, some who were totally unrecognizable to me, climbing the Tor to pay their respects – seekers every one.

  Then I was lying atop the green Star Stone again, in the Circle of Stones, staring up at the Stars. My Bees had all flown buzzing and fretting to be around me, even though it was Night Time. Through their buzzing loudness I thought I heard Her speak.

  “Whatever the price, Morgan? So you have vowed. So will it be!”

  What had I done?

  Arthur

  I had sent word to Mordred three Times. Three Times I had asked to speak with him face to face, man to man, Father to son. I had never even looked upon the countenance of my own son’s face. He did not even pay the honour of an answer to the first or second request. On the third I had written that I lived by the Rule of Three, which says that to request or refuse something of someone the first Time is an entrance into parlance or negotiation. To ask or refuse the second Time is to admit that Humans may fail to properly communicate or to understand the request. But that when the third request or refusal is given, it must be the last, for the matter should be clear by then. Because, as The Merlin taught me long years ago – To refuse a request more than three Times is to demean yourself by acknowledging that your word means nothing to the other person. ‘No’ means ‘No!’ Likewise, if one requests a thing more than three Times, they have entered into the realm of begging – thereby also demeaning themselves. And, too, one would be insulting the other person by as much as saying, I know your word means nothing.

  So, upon the third request I wrote – “Prince Mordred, I think it fair to explain this to you, this is my last request. Your failing to answer I will take as a call to arms. I pay to you this respect. But if, my son, we could talk, perhaps all of this senseless killing could be avoided.”

  He answered.

  Somehow his spies stole one of the entrance gates’ Wind banners from my fortress. It arrived at my headquarters, wrapped and drenched in the blood of a Sow, with its head rolled up in it – and then rolled in the dirt. The young courier, with shaking hands, gave it to me with a brief note: “Father – Uncle, I will have your crown and I will wield Caledfwlch. May your head rot as this sow, for your perversions stink as does it!” – Prince Mordred, Brittanicus Rex.

  I gave the courier two gold coins for Morganna Le Fey. The young lad’s terror abating, he said, “My Lord... why?”

  “For the ferryman.”

  Realization dawned in his eyes and he bowed,

  “May I leave in peace?”

  “Yes lad, and here is a gold coin for your bravery, go – no one will harm you.”

  I was heartsick. Not because I feared Death, not even the Death of my remaining beloved brothers in war – for we had all lived valorous lives – but because I never thought it would come to this. Oh, Mordred.

  Chapter 37

  Hiding in the Perilous Wood

  Gwyddion

  Vivianne, Lady of the Lake, Nimue the Enchantress, and Morgan of the Woods – the women – the Priestesses all insisted upon traveling with me to Alba where we knew that in one Moon’s Dance the decisive battle would be fought.

  It would fall upon the first Day past the Full Moon, one Night past the peak of power for the Great Cast of Magic – Magic to gather in, Magic of manifestation, of culmination... the Cast of highest power! We all knew that Morganna Le Faye had planned it thus.

  The first Cast of Magic should be done upon the Dark or Waning Moon. Its power is that of endings – banishing all obstacles, removing all threats, or cursing an outcome. The second Cast is done upon the Waxing Crescent Moon – the Archer Maiden. Her Magic is to place all matters in order for beginnings, to plant the seeds of our desire, and to set our needs and desires into motion. But the third and most mighty Magical Cast is made upon the Full Moon Herself. When that which we desire has been envisioned and the end of that desire has been ‘Seen,’ we use our Grym Hudol to Cast the ‘Spell of Making.’ And then we... well... the rest is a secret...

  Then, we rest well in the certainty that with this it is done, and that the perfect outcome of our desire has already been created in the true reality of the Other-realms – there awaiting its most beneficent Time to manifest upon this earthly plane – to be – to mirror
that which already is. As above, so below...

  Something was scratching at the back of my neck. I did not mention it. But of course – how foolish of me! – these three traveling fellows of mine all had the Sight and could read me like a book – albeit not completely.

  You see, for many years I worked on the Magic of Secrets, endeavouring to devise a way to shield my inner thoughts – keeping them to myself alone – for the sake of privacy or to ward off treachery. This knowledge is a Gift of the Gods. It is not taught in Druidical Universities or by any other tradition I have heard of. The way of it is this – in order to shield my secret thoughts from being read by other Adepts, I must Cast a shimmer of invisibility over my true thoughts – while at the same Time giving those Adepts something else to read. It would not do to just leave a hole in my thoughts, or other Seers would suspect me. And so, I have mastered a way to place simple everyday thoughts into the hole left by my shielded, private thoughts. These are thoughts that I am not really thinking, but only allowing to float there to fool those who would attempt to read me.

  The knowledge of how this Magic of Secrets is accomplished will die with me. For, of what use would it be if everyone knew how to use it?

  But as to the scratching at my neck...

  Morgan approached me quietly upon the second Night of our sojourn to the site where we would meet Arthur and his Warriors.

  “Gwyddion, something concerns me greatly. Why – on the Night past the fullness of the Moon? Morganna would, of course, bring the most drama possible to all matters. It would just seem more like her haughty self to attempt to cause a victory over Arthur upon the Full Moon – for her legend… her fame. I cannot bring thoughts together to make sense of why this bothers me so much. However, when I think of it, an odor of fear and distaste fills my nostrils. That is all – as if there are pieces missing from a puzzle game.”