Voices of the Stars

by Rowena Whaling

  “Morgan, I feel it too.”

  There was nothing more to say of it.

  Travelling North at the pace we had to maintain was very hard on Lady Vivianne. Nimue and Morgan gave potions of Herbs mixed with wine to her along the way – just enough to relieve some of her pain but not enough to tax her with Visions.

  Inland from the Bay of Puffins, we passed the Vallum Aelium – the Roman wall. There we found Mile Forts, which are very small, gated fortresses. We found no army – neither Mordred’s nor Arthur’s… not even the ghosts of the Romans. I supposed they had faded long, long before and flown to their sunny homeland of Grapes and Olives.

  Upon the second Day after, we performed Divinations to learn where we would find Arthur’s army. By this we ascertained that the Battle would be staged somewhere not far to the East of our present location.

  When we arrived at Arthur’s encampment, there was no sight of Mordred’s army. Good. We would have at least a little while to rest.

  “Bedwyr,” I thought – “my dear, dear boy...” I laughed at myself. They were... what... forty-two years by now? Talking to myself, I said, “You and I, Bedwyr, have spent our lives for Arthur – a worthy expenditure for sure. Yet, I fear that I have not taken enough Time over all these years to tell you how much I Love you – how proud I am of you. I know Arthur has named you as his heir in the event of his Death. A King... But, of course, it is not that easy. You would have to reunite the people and be claimed and accepted. A good, kind King you would be. But I know that you would like this not. Here, in my own thoughts, I see you better as a Druid, for as men go in the Arts Magical, I know of none in your generation so gifted as you. Well, anyway, I cannot see beyond my own Death. Perhaps that is a blessing to me.

  I was startled by his voice... Bedwyr stepped out of the Shadows and said, “Gwyddion...”

  We embraced, but he held me longer than usual as he whispered in my ear: “You are the only Father I have ever known. As for my real parents, well, we did not know. I have Loved you and been in awe of you most of my life. And never worry – I have always felt it returned. As to being King or a Druid, this I have not seen. Only the Weavers know what lies beyond this battle. I do not wish to know. I think I will not die today, nor will you. But when we are beyond this Day and its fell deeds, let us make Time for one another.”

  Our embrace broke. His eyes were glistening with tears, but I knew they were not for me.

  I crept into Arthur’s tent.

  “Ah, ha!” said he – “Here you are – right on Time.”

  We embraced. I had sworn by my honour not to tell him that the women had come – and so I did not. Better for him to believe Morgan safe on her Isle of peace. I knew that I must warn Bedwyr – to keep silent, as well...

  “Gwyddion, please come over here.”

  Arthur had his battle tactics all drawn and neatly spread upon a roughly constructed trestle.

  “See, here is our plan...”

  Chapter 38

  The Scarlet Fields

  Arthur

  Frozen in the pre-Dawn Fog, we sat atop our mounts. There were only the four of us left now of the original Seven of Battles. We were Lucian, Fergus Macroich, Bedwyr, and I – Arthur the King.

  “King of what?”– I thought – “a land torn by disagreement, separate visions, sons against Fathers, and now in the end, Clan against Clan? Has Time run backward? The younger seek for the glory of Empire... Rome! What idiots! Rome abandoned us three generations before the Time of my birth. Rome is not even Rome anymore. Constantine, almost two hundred years ago, abandoned what was then left of the greatness of Rome – changing everything.

  These romantic notions of reinventing what is crumbled are a fool’s endeavour. The Picti, who had joined in compatriotism with the other people of this great Island – when first we met at Table Rock – have not answered the call to arms. I cannot in my heart, blame them. Stubborn and primitive as they may be, they are not fools. This is not their fight.

  The Eire from across the Western Sea have taken advantage of our civil unrest by raiding our shores in great frequency and numbers. Many of the Cymru Chieftains have sent their words of apologies and excuses for not standing with us – some to “protect our lands from the Eire,” and some to maintain solidarity within their family Clans, by remaining neutral rather than killing each other. These Clans will never tolerate a pretend new Rome, but will save their Warriors to fight against Mordred should he win the Day and invade them. They must think – “If Arthur wins, all will be well anyway – so why risk it?”

  More the fool I – to have thought that they would risk all to defend me. But it is not about me, it is about The Dream – The Dream we all shared and realised against all odds.

  Then, instinctually, I reached for an amulet that hung from a silver chain about my neck. I had worn it in every battle I had fought for the past twenty years. Morgan made for me, just after she had heard about Morganna’s treachery toward my body on the Night of my crowning celebration. She had told me “When this is needed most, throw it into a body of Water. At that the Curse will be activated...”

  The words written upon it were – “Adixoui Deuina Deieda Andagin Uindiorix cuamenai'” – “May I summon to justice the worthless woman, oh Divine Deieda.”

  She said this old Curse would bring justice to Morganna – and she never explained farther. Of course, I have always trusted Morgan with my life. The thing was that I could never find the heart to throw it away. But when I reached for it, the amulet was not there.

  “Oh yes,” I remembered. As my troops were passing Aquae Sulis, on our way toward this battle, I felt that the Time had come. I stopped for a few moments to pray to Sulis-Minerva. Then I threw the amulet into the River.

  “It is lighter now, almost Dawn, my King.” quoth one of my Guard.

  I came back from the depth of my thought.

  The blackness was a bit lighter than it had been a few moments ago. Light enough now to see around us – campfires on both sides were beginning to be extinguished.

  It was then that we all saw a strange phenomenon. A murmur passed through the ranks. A giant bank of frozen Mist, tall as the Oaks and seemingly impenetrable, was rolling and billowing, unlike anything I had ever seen. It was coming toward us and toward the enemy lines, as well. For all the Gods, it seemed as a Misty giant mouth, eating up all within its path. A thing of such magnificence was it, that for a moment I forgot all else.

  When it reached us, it engulfed everything – every blade of grass, even the beards of the men who wore them in the Clans’ style. Our Horses’ manes and ears were covered in an instant with Ice – as was our armor. Visibility was gone. We could not even see to the Horse ahead of us. Our marvelous Archers would be of little use in this. My heart cried – “Merlin, where is your North Wind Magic? Have even your Spirits abandoned us?”

  I had positioned myself at the front of the Vanguard but had asked Bedwyr to accompany me. This put me out in front of all but the Archers, against the pleading of my companions. Lucian would lead the Left Flank and Fergus the Right. Our scouts reported that we were outnumbered two to one. But then a great cheer arose from our men. A swell of gladness filled me and a pride for all that we had and still stood for: the Picti had come. At that, I decided to throw off whatever pieces of metal armour I wore to fight like my long ago Forefathers had – lest I turn to Ice, too.

  As these conditions made sight impossible, I thought for sure the battle would be put off until we could see. And it might very well have been that way but for the Picti, who yelled, drummed, and played their Battle Pipes – without a command to do so, of course. No matter, it was on.

  From Mordred’s command position we heard “Archers, let fly!”

  The first round of Mordred’s arrows flew into our ranks. These were probably meant to hit our Archers, but they over-shot them. So – they were closer than anyone knew. I quickly ordered our Archers to “Aim very low and let fly three rounds” – which they ca
n do in three breath’s Time. They had aforetime been instructed, “...then run behind the lines.”

  The arrows thumped into flesh and leathered wooden shields, but the sounds were dull, as were the Death screams. That was when I noted that the Fog – and now Snow – impaired our hearing as well as our sight. Everything sounded as if we were swimming beneath the Waters of a great Lake.

  So much for strategy... No one knew who or what they were lunging into with sword or pike. “GREAT GODDESS, let us not kill our own.”

  “Stop!” I hollered. “Do not press forward. Let none get behind you. Stand your ground!”

  I heard my orders repeated to left and right, each Time drifting deeper and deeper into silence. But I believed we were holding.

  I felt my Warriors falling beside me. All thought of command left me. I was the battle, the killing, the wounding. At once all my other senses; smell, taste, and touch, especially touch were somehow heightened. They say this is true of the blind. Each Time Caledfwlch hit something it felt different. Still I kept pushing – through flesh, fat, muscle, guts, eyes, throats – I could not tell what anything was. “Had that just been a shield or was it a man’s bone that I could not completely pierce?” Quickly I tried to pull Caledfwlch out by putting my knee upon the dead man’s thigh. I had not enough strength to do it. I looked for another body to steady one foot against for leverage so as to release my sword.

  Never had I been so aware of the sensation of pulling sword through flesh, although it is always a hard thing to do. It takes strength to run a man through. Flesh and bones do not yield easily. Is this only because of the way we are made? Or could part of it be that our will to live gives our flesh the strength to battle against sword and pike?

  Then the too-familiar odors were here again – the stench of blood and of dead men lying in their own shit, piss, and vomit. Men foul themselves when they die. Is it from fear alone, I wonder, or simply the release of Death?

  I think I killed two Horses. I heard them scream – poor, innocent beasts. I prayed, “Lady of Animals, give them solace.” Then I felt a burning in my left arm, sharp and hot as an iron poker in a forge.

  “I will be alright – I wear Makyr’s scabbard. I am invincible as I wield Caledfwlch.” I assured myself. “Is that fair?” I wondered... But the Goddess has willed it so.

  I heard low moans and whimpers, or were they prayers? I am sure I heard women’s names called out. Lovers? Wives? Daughters? Once I heard a young voice call, “Mama, please, Mama, I Love you.”

  Then I cried. Not just tears, but with my whole body wracked and shaking in uncontrollable sobbing. Never have I been so sad. How had it come to this? “Must I kill my own son? Could I?” This was insanity – all of it.

  Finally I heard a horn blow from across the battle line. It was Mordred’s call to cease. So then... we would wait for the fog to lift. But it was already well into the afternoon. The battle would not resume this Day.

  I write these words in my quarters on this cold, still Night. I do not know what the outcome of all of this will be.

  “Oh, Goddess of the Starry Black, bless my beloved ones and keep them safe through whatever calamity might come.”

  To you Morgan... I hope this reaches you: I Love you.

  Arthur Rex

  Morgan

  Gwyddion, Lady Vivianne, Nimue, and I hid in the Woods on a Hill, from whence we thought we would have a view of Arthur’s command. But a great, thick Mist had rolled onto the battlefield. Within this shroud, we could barely see each other, much less anything that was going on far from us. This was frustrating beyond measure!

  But then we did hear the Picti proclaim their fearsome and so welcomed selves. Hope was renewed!

  “So my brothers have come,” said Nimue. “I sent word through the Spirits of Deer, Raven, Seal, and Wolf. I knew they would hear my plea.

  “I thank you great Cailleach, Goddess of war and Death, Dark Mother, my Lady of Storms and Ice.”

  Then, in a tongue that seemed so familiar, yet just out of my reach – so that I could not make sense of the words – Nimue intoned a Chant of praise to this ancient, Dark Goddess, by naming her attributes.

  She needed not explain to me the reason for her words. I knew that she was invoking this GREAT GODDESS into herself. The fog was impeding my vision of course, but even so Nimue seemed to grow far beyond her physical stature and beyond her Human power. The power coming from Nimue pierced through me and Gwyddion and Lady Vivianne too.

  “I am the Well the chalice, the womb

  I am the ashes, the maggot, the tomb

  I am the end, the contraction, the fall

  I am the Death, and beginning of all

  I wear a necklace of skulls and of seeds

  I wait in the crossroads with Dragons and Steeds

  Some call me Raven, or Vulture and Asp...

  But the Universe breathes while held in my grasp”

  So beautiful... I know this One by many names. Had I not heard Lady Vivianne speak these same words at the Rite of the Heiros Gamos so long ago?

  Gwyddion leaned against me. Face to face, eyes to eyes, I saw his silver spirals mesmerized and mesmerizing. Then somehow he, too, was the Goddess. He added to the Incantation:

  “I am the Star, the Lotus, the Rose...

  Out from my breasts, the Milky Way flows...

  The Cosmos spins with my spiral dance...

  Mother of Time, eternal romance... “

  As if from the cold Goddess Herself, a great Snow began to blanket the Valley. Snowflakes as large as half the size of my palms were falling at a pace that I had never seen before.

  Gwyddion, Nimue, and I held to each other as if we were no longer three, but one – as lovers entwined were we, affixed to each other, in a whirlwind of power, frozen Mist, and heavy Snow.

  Time had passed. How much? None of us could ever say.

  Vaguely in the distance we began to hear the clashing of swords and cries and groans. All was as if in a Dream.

  I thought I heard Nimue let out a terrible, high-pitch scream. Had she? Or was all of this only the stuff of Visions?

  Then I saw Her... the Washer at the Ford, washing the bloody clothes of the dying. But who’s clothes? Arthur’s? I, the woman, Morgan, dared not look.

  I heard The Merlin speak in the voice of a God – his words getting louder and louder with every phrase...

  “By the power of three, as above so below...

  To the front, so the back, to the left, so the right...

  By the power of each of the seven directions

  True Wisdom tells ‘all things have a price’

  An equal and opposite restitution...

  By the power of the pipes which began this charge...

  I call for the blasts of three horns to rescind it...

  By the power of command that began this charge...

  I summon a command to end it...

  An equal and opposite restitution...

  By the Powers of Darkness, the Powers of Light...

  By the powers of Fire and Ice...

  By the powers of complimentary polarity...

  By the powers of all sanity...

  I summon an end to this lunacy...

  ZAMILAK!!!”

  At that very moment we heard the sound of horns from Mordred’s command post.

  “A call to retreat – yes... yes...” sighed The Merlin.

  “But it is only a respite from the eventuality of all things.”

  I looked over at Lady Vivianne. She seemed more diminished and frail with each passing moment.

  “Mother Vivianne” I pled. “I must go with Gwyddion to help Heal the wounded and Sing the dying to Death. There are not enough Warriors skilled in the Healing Arts to care for everyone.”

  “You cannot Heal everyone, Morgan, have you not yet learned this? And what about Arthur? We agreed he would be more comforted to think you safe at home.”

  “Mother, please, I must go.”

  “Then if you
must, I give my permission, my dear.”

  I looked at Nimue. She said, “I will stay to care for my Mother.”

  Gwyddion grabbed my arm and we sped toward Arthur’s camp.

  The King’s Encampment

  Arthur’s encampment was spread out over many hectares of land and was mostly comprised of tents covered in hides. It lay in the Woods to the West of the battlefield.

  I could see that the field was almost completely soaked in blood. Of what did this remind me? Red blood on white Snow... Yes... our Sacred Red and White Springs. Were they the Gods’ foreshadowing of blood on Snow – mingled in their sacrifice to opposing opinions? Must it always be this way?” No, this was now and the Springs were for as long as the world lasted and since its beginning. How many battles, how many lives and Deaths and how many lost dreams had they existed through? Perhaps we truly are no more than a flash in the Sky. If so, are my histories merely a vainglorious attempt at immortality? Perhaps I am weary.

  A knowing came suddenly upon me. We, on these Isles, can never again separate our bloods one from another. This is a truth. A hope rang in my heart that, even though through the Ages men will come, bring forth their ideas of glory and then die… once mingled, our bloods – our descendants – are one. Agreement or disagreement over policy can never change this.

  I had been taught to hold great respect for the Balancer of the cycles of life. So, when I saw the Death feast begin, I should have sung blessings to the feasters. But as I saw a Raven poke into and suck out the broken eye from the cadaver of a young boy – of perhaps fourteen years – I felt the gorge rising into my mouth. I quickly looked away. I knew that I would have enough horror in seeing the living, wounded ones being sawn apart, then their flesh being burnt to ward off festering, pestilence, and Death... It was Time to leave the scavengers to their endeavours and turn my eyes toward the work ahead.

  It was very cold, but I could pay no attention to that, either. I rolled up the sleeves of my simple robe and pushed my cloak back behind my arms. I was ready.