A silver Bird whooshed through the Forest – then a dull thump – and the man immediately to Mordred’s left fell to the ground with only an “ugh.” He was shot in the middle of his forehead, by a skilled and prized Archer, no doubt.
Then, with an amazing amount of bravery or perhaps bravado, Mordred and his five remaining Warriors slowed their Horses to a walk and rode out into clear sight. I knew that Mordred would be dead if Arthur had wanted it so. Mordred, who knew this too, yelled out to Arthur –
“Father! Uncle! Will you hide in the bush like a coward, behind your Archer’s kilt, while we are picked off one at a Time like Pheasants for the King’s table? Or will you face me, man to man, now – at last?”
“I will come forward to speak with you, Mordred. On my word and honour, my men will not interfere. You and I alone can settle this.”
“You ask me to take you at your word and honour? I attribute no honour to you, Father – you incestuous rapist. You son of an adulterous, murderous Mother.”
Arthur dismounted and walked into the clearing.
“You go too far, Mordred. How could you come to believe these things of me when you have never even so much as faced me man to man to question me or to hear words of denial or defense? Are we not civilized men? You condemn without rebuttal. Where is your proof? Your Mother’s word? Should we speak then of her honour?”
Mordred said, “Let it never be told that I slew you while mounted and you on foot.”
At that, Mordred and all his men dismounted. Arthur’s men stepped into the clearing but kept their distance.
My breath was caught, held within me. In those few moments of silence, the Ancestors Hummed an ancient tune within my head. No words. There were not then, nor are there now, words for this. Were my Bees buzzing, too?
I called to the Queen of the Starry Night’s Sky. “Oh, One of great comfort, did you think you could prepare me? Take away the pain? Make me accept what should never have been?” I pled to the Powers of Darkness and Light – to the Elements four. “Let Arthur live.”
Still no one moved. Then, without a word being spoken, with no command from Arthur or Mordred, Mordred’s men made a move. With a great clash, swords and shields came together in the Dance of Death.
Everything, including my breath and heartbeat, slowed, slowed, and slowed down. All motion, all existence, down to seeing the flapping of a Dragonfly’s Wings at the pace of a Snails crawl – every motion clearly seen, yet unstoppable. I saw the muscles of arms, the sinews of hands, the expressions of faces and eyes, all moving for purpose, but at a pace that showed each and every intention before its happening. I lived every move and every breath of Arthur’s, his companions’ and his foes. Each cut, moan, and scream were drawn out and lengthened, as if echoing in my head. My heart broke into fragments with every thrust, blooding, and Death.
I had been well taught of this discipline in our Mystery School. Great Magic is this, which defies the perceived Time of this world. But of how to achieve it and how it can work, I am forbidden to speak.
At the last, Mordred was left with only three companions. One was engaging Lucian far across the clearing, and two were engaging Bedwyr. Bedwyr, our greatest champion and a Magic man as well – fought as if he knew before his opponents did what move they would next make. Arthur began to run to help Bedwyr, but then he was confronted by his son.
Mordred stood strong and beautiful with his sword held out in front of himself with his legs braced in perfect form. Quick as lightening, Arthur withdrew Caledfwlch from Makyr’s scabbard – then each man, Father and son, held sword to the other’s chest. Was that a momentary flicker of pride in Arthur’s eyes, beholding for the first Time the only child of his flesh, this strong and beautiful young man? But in an instant it was gone. Then Arthur, the King and Warrior spoke. “Mordred, at last... ” said he, all the while watching like a Cat for the slightest movement of his opponent.
“Why has it come to this? Neither I, nor my Lady Mother Igraine is guilty of the things you accuse. Has it all been over this? You have torn our Kingdom and our alliance asunder – pitting sons against Fathers and grand-sires and brothers against brothers. For what? To claim a Kingdom which would have been yours anyway? I have named you as my heir when and if we are reconciled. Did your Mother not tell this? Unless you cause my Death, that is. But now, what Kingdom is there left for you to claim?”
Mordred was momentarily unsure.
Arthur took advantage of this. For just then, he saw – off to his right side – the two fighters against Bedwyr disarm him of his sword. It flew out of his reach.
I saw Arthur reach to his side to where the slender long pike of a fallen Warrior lay. He picked it up so quickly that even I hardly saw the motion. Then to my horror, he cried out – “Bedwyr” – and flung Caledfwlch tip over hilt toward him.
Bedwyr cried, “No!”
Three Times did it twirl hilt over blade. Then by his excellence – or by the Sight – Bedwyr caught Caledfwlch – the sword of Kings – by its hilt, which, all at a Time, had made him invincible and Arthur’s heir. He slew his attackers.
Mordred’s eyes followed the sword he had so lusted for. His tired arms almost went limp for a moment. But then upon his face he wore a mighty look of determination.
Arthur, who by this Time held the long pike against Mordred’s chest, had begun to speak. But Mordred interrupted angrily, spitting out – “It is way too late for talk, Father. We are not fit for this realm of the living. But here and now, this chain, this family predilection to perversion ends. Let us embrace in the dance of Death, Father.”
Then Mordred grabbed the shaft of the long pike, and to gasps of utter disbelief and horror from all left in and near the clearing, Mordred impaled himself upon it, deeper and deeper and kept pulling it through himself, one inward thrust at a Time and one step closer to Arthur. Arthur stood still in disbelief and shock, morbidly watching. Finally, Mordred’s sword was at Arthur’s belly. Then with his left hand, he pulled the pike once more through himself until finally his own sword plunged into Arthur. As he shoved his sword through Arthur, he smiled. It was Morganna’s smile. Arthur groaned, then whispered, “I forgive you, my son.”
Mordred, barely able to make words, said, “I despise you, my Father.”
And both fell upon the bloody ground.
The pungent smell of Wildcat filled the Grove. Morganna! So, then, we had failed to block her Magics.
I ran to Arthur. Gwyddion was already there by his side. He said, pointing toward Mordred – “Arthur is not conscious – but he is.”
Even then, I could not but feel compassion for Mordred. He had never had a chance. I held his head in my lap and sang words of comfort to him. His guileless, beautiful blue eyes – so like my Bear’s – looked up at me.
“Morgan,” he whispered, “come close.”
I put my ear to his lips.
“So difficult to speak – listen, Morgan. My Mother drugged me with her Spells. I lay with her last Night. My own Mother! Oh, despicable, loathsome thing that I am!” He choked. “But she may be with child. Abomination... perversion... runs in our family... lives in our blood.”
“No, no, Mordred, you are wrong. Morganna deceived you always. Live while I tell you this. I swear it.”
“Sweet Morgan,” said he, “Is it really so?”
“I swear it.”
Fading, he whispered, “Then all was for naught. No greater fool than I. I go to my Ancestors, befouled... disgraced... destroyed...”
A great chill ran though me. “Mordred?” But his eyes were lifeless.
“Oh, Mordred... Why could I not have let you die in peace? Oh, child – who could have been mine. Nothing mattered but my own selfishness, to prove my sister’s wicked agenda. You were always a victim, drowned in the poison of Morganna’s evil cauldron. I am so, so sorry. I pray you hear me.”
I tore my robe asunder. There, let them see my bare, dry, childless breasts. I scooped up dust and soil from the blooded grou
nd and smeared it upon my face and chest. I took my blade from my boot and cut off my long hair. I howled and rocked back and forth upon my knees... – “I am withered... I am regret... I am a hollow ghost...”
There, for a long while, I knelt with Gwyddion silently weeping beside me.
It was Nimue – who had finally found us – who spoke: “Look, Arthur breathes and does not bleed – he lives.”
Vivianne still lay upon her pallet in the Wood far away, yet we all heard her whispered voice in our heads – “It is the Spell of Makyr’s scabbard. He will never bleed out his life’s blood nor die whilst he wears it. The sword brought its bearer invincibility and Kingship, but the scabbard keeps him alive. Bring him to me and we will travel by Saxon Ship to the Isle of Apples so that he may rest while Briton awaits the return of its Summer King.”
Vivianne’s word was law, so we obeyed.
Before we left that blooded grove, Lucian and Bedwyr buried Fergus Macroich in the center of the circling Trees – the last of their original Companions. They lay a pile of Stones over his grave, with his bow and quiver standing upon it. His sword and dagger, along with a bag of gold would be taken to his family.
Chapter 39
Endings
Vivianne, Lady of the Lake
My daughter Nimue is writing these words for me as we sail home to the Isle of Apples.
I saw it all happen, even with eyes closed. I am sure that Morgan will write of the events leading to Arthur’s wounding. I am so tired now...
I have held to this life only to put in place my edicts, which by our tradition remain law even after I am gone.
For many years now, I have watched Morgan grow in Spirit and power. I now proclaim her elevation to High Wise Mother upon my Death – one of the Nine. Also, when I die, it is my fervent wish, desire and recommendation that she replace me as Lady of the Lake.
I have wondered for a while now if I was hasty in making this decision. Should I have chosen Makyr? Yes, it is true that Morgan is fallible and too emotional. She takes upon herself what responsibilities and what debts belong to others. She sacrifices what is due to her for the comfort of others. She Loves completely and unconditionally – at Times tragically and perhaps even unwisely. Yes, she Loves... The great cup of her heart is seemingly endless. That is why I have chosen her. Yes, she is Human, but no less perfect than any of us. Nimue will make all this known when Death claims me.
To you, Nimue – daughter of my flesh and of my heart, write this down too – for I would have it in my history; You have not disappointed me. You walk your own path and it is a wise, venerable, and Magical one. I have always and will always Love you more than anyone on this Earth.
Soon I will rest with my Ancestors. I cannot stay to give Morgan her Initiations, but the others of The Nine must not let more than one and one half Moon’s Dances of burial and mourning go by without having all in place. They must elevate Morgan quickly.
Morgan, you must leave your heavy grief behind you. So much I ask of you. Yes, I have always asked a lot of you, as has the GREAT GODDESS. I have Loved you well. Do not disappoint me.
Vivianne, Lady of the Lake
A note from Morgan
The Day after we arrived at our Order’s lands, Vivianne, Lady of the Lake, passed through the veil.
Lucian
I write this on the Saxon ship sailing Arthur homeward to the Isle of Apples.
When I saw Arthur throw Caledfwlch to Bedwyr, I knew it was the end. When I saw Mordred impale himself upon the long pike, I stared in revulsion and yet wonder. What courage – or insanity! When he pierced Arthur, I fell to my knees and vomited but then strangely I could not weep. I just felt cold. I am still cold. The center of that coldness is my heart. Then I saw Morgan’s grief. Oh Gods, how can you be so cruel?
No, I am not a religious man, full of Divine Spirit as are most of my company of friends. So, although I do not curse you, my Gods, I want an answer – Why? I stay silent to listen, but they remain silent, as well.
For now I have no other words.
Bedwyr, the Heir
I knew they had me when my sword was flung from my grasp. I was prepared to die. The thought came unbidden – “At least I will not have to watch Arthur die...” And then, the immediate next thought was – “But I need to be there for him until the end, always!” So quickly did everything happen that my thoughts fell behind the happenings. One moment I was as good as dead and then Arthur hurled Caledfwlch toward me. In that instant my thoughts caught up and ran ahead. I gasped at all the significance. Arthur could be bested without the sword of power. He was in mortal peril – but I was invincible. I would live. By this one act of Love and unselfishness, he saved my life and made me his heir. He would have me as high King!
But quickly I must pay heed to my attackers – to kill them.
Then the drama began. I turned back to see the unthinkable.
Mordred... Arthur... the long pike... Arthur had fallen.
My Spirit cried – “Oh, my beloved brother, my childhood companion, when at last all is said and all is done – it makes no matter to me if you be High King, companion, or brother – nothing really matters but my Love for you. Bear, I have lived for you. What do I do now? Can anything ever fill this deep Well of my emptiness?”
Arthur, will I forever be the shadow you have left behind? I do not want to be King. This, even for you, I will not do. Those Days, those Dreams, have passed.
I wept.
Oh Lady of the withering Dream...
The potent Art remains...
Yet is ever receding...
From Mankind’s world of fame...
Oh, beauty of the Moonlight’s beings...
Your shadow’s kiss now wanes...
Forgotten, abandoned, Enchantments
In ruins they lie unclaimed...
Oh, Lady of the countless Stars...
Do men forget your dance?
They march to the drums of War Gods,
Devoid of all romance...
Oh why is this thing happening?
Will you ever return again?
Oh Radiant Light to spin and twirl
To ancient Love’s refrain?
When I regained some composure, I remembered that my Freidl and my children were at home, awaiting me. All was not lost.
I have decided to give Caledfwlch back to the Lady of the Lake, when she is established. I now know that Lady Vivianne intends to name Morgan as her successor upon her passing, so Morgan will have to decide what to do with it. Really, it belongs to The Merlin... He found it. But the Lady will decide and the Lady’s word is law.
Morgan, Lady of the Lake
We returned to our blessed Isle to find the Water levels high and so were able to travel farther inland on the Saxon ship than we had expected to. But finally the Time came to thank our sailing hosts and transfer to the Punts of the Marsh folk.
A dolorous Day it was for all. We had to face the reality of our beloved King having been cut down. The Lady Vivianne was near death and everyone was deeply concerned about The Merlin.
The King maker, the strength beneath the tower, was somehow quite diminished. Grief? Hopelessness? Age? He who always knew the secret of the right words for everyone and everything, was mostly silent now, vacant even. For the first Time, in my eyes he seemed far too old for Nimue. I wondered how she felt. Nimue the Enchantress – Dragon Caller and Walker between the Worlds... I respected her far too much to try to read her, so I could only guess. She and I had never been close, but I admired her greatly. I had always thought of her as strength personified. Or was that only the Full Moon of her outer visage? ...the way she would have us see her? I wondered... The Mother she had only discovered in adulthood was near to crossing the veil. Her beloved was now becoming an old and ailing man who was withdrawing into some realm only he knew. But I myself felt too lost for compassion, too lost to comfort her, even if she would have allowed it.
Yet I knew that I had not the luxury of rest or self-
pity.
Some Time later...
Vivianne the Great died and was buried with full pomp and ceremony. I was elevated to Wise Mother by our ancient custom and was unanimously accepted by the eight remaining High Mothers of council into their ranks. Then on a blue-Skied Day of benevolent Sun and Winds, with all the Stars in their most propitious positions, I was made Lady of the Lake, High Wise Mother of the Isle of Apples, and leader of the Order.
According to Vivianne’s written wishes, for the first Time ever, all Druids as well as the Tribes’ Folk who dwell in the Forests were invited to the post-initiation celebration. That Day should have been the proudest and most resplendent Day of my life, but...
Now, do not misunderstand, it is not that I only went through the motions of this Divine Rite. In some ways it was the most beautiful and empowering experience of my life – perhaps all of my lives. While living the hours and moments of it I was truly transformed beyond this world, this life, this flesh. But when all was accomplished, the deep shadows of my inner sorrow blemished the memories of it. I feared it would be so for some long Time to come.
Bedwyr left soon after I was elevated to Lady of the Lake. He stayed long enough for the ceremonies and then he gave Caledfwlch to me. He relinquished it along with any claim to Kingship.
From here he went to his fortress in Dumnonia where he lived happily with Freidl and his children.
Lucian bade us all farewell soon after that too, to return to his family in Rome. But before leaving, he said that he would not be gone for very long, for it was his desire to finish his life here with me on the Isle of Apples.
With me?
Arthur was bedded in a humble cottage with open windows, a brazier, a chair, and a chest with an oil lamp upon it. My loom sat next to his bed.
Voices of the Stars Page 55
