And I heard Merlin’s reply, as I saw him in my mind, he and the great king on their horses:
“You hope I’m mad, yes?” Merlin said.
They reached a hill where they could watch the coast. Against the three-quarters moon as it sank back to the sea, one could make out the crooked standing stones. The little village was below with a late fire beside one of the huts. All was quiet. The men and horses milled about. No one challenged Merlin directly, but he knew what they were thinking.
“Tell me the dream again, Merlin,” the king said, as he had daily.
Merlin did so. He looked around at the skeptical faces. He began to wonder if it had, indeed, been a vision, or merely an old man’s wine-addled dream.
“Silence!” Lancelot said in a loud whisper. “There’s a shape just moved across the water down near the village.”
The men hushed and stood, straining to see down the hill. It seemed an age they waited for something to happen.
Suddenly, flame leapt up from the huts nearest the water’s edge. Then again. And again! There were roars of raiders, women’s screams, men shouting!
“To battle!” King Arthur shouted, as he led the knights down the hill.
Merlin held back his too-willing horse. A priest and a bard—as well as being rather old—he did not go armed for battle. There was nothing he could do but help the wounded later. He used the Sight to watch the king and his men ride on the raiders.
As in the vision, there were few Saxons, maybe thirty. They were very surprised to have knights in full armor come upon them. Wearing nothing but animal skins and wielding a few swords, the raiders didn’t put up much of a fight.
But then, Arthur and Lancelot came upon the man-beast, as hideous as he’d been in the dream. Around him were those he’d slaughtered. He was torturing a woman with his knife.
The room wobbled, and the fire seemed far too hot. But my skin was so cold. I knew the beast of which he spoke. He haunted my dreams and shadowed my every waking moment. I wanted to run away, far off into the night. I wanted to … but I must calm myself. A priestess must not behave this way. Slowly, I breathed in and held it for the count of two, then out. I focused on the image of still waters in a stone urn in my mind. Nothing must ripple the surface.
The terror receded … for a while.
Lord Merlin did not notice my disquiet. He continued with his tale. Merlin felt the king’s revulsion. Lancelot’s anger was like white fire. He leapt off his horse and ran at the demon. The Saxon madman dropped the girl and charged at Lancelot. The brave knight swung his mighty sword and lopped off the beast’s head with one blow. Hardly missing a stride, Lancelot ran to the woman who’d been tortured, but she was mercifully dead. Lancelot screamed in frustration, whirled, and hacked at the dead man’s fallen body until the king got off his horse and stopped him.
“It’s done, Lance,” the king said. “You killed him. He won’t hurt any more women.”
Chapter Ten
Vomit rose up in my throat. I fought to keep it down. No matter how awful, it would not do to throw up in the Lady’s presence. Sweat ran down my spine and down my sides from my armpits. I tried the breathing again, the calming waters in my mind.
I felt overshadowed by the terror. It loomed over me, waiting to wash me away in a great wave.
Merlin continued with his story, and I slipped into his words:
For a moment, Lancelot nearly ran mad, then got control of himself. He bent down and used the Saxon’s cloak to wipe his sword. “I guess Merlin was right,” he said huskily.
“So it would seem,” King Arthur said.
Merlin decided it was safe to ride down to the village and see if he could help with the survivors. He was pleased to find so few injured, although ten villagers had lost their lives. None of the knights had sustained any harm. At the dawn, the king’s men turned their attention to the raider’s ship. It was unlike most Saxon boats and worthy of some study. Merlin rode up as they were untying a naked woman’s body from the dragon prow. Her long hair was like old copper, but her brows were jet black. A great whip mark was across the left side of her heart-shaped face. Her skin, bleached by the sea, was white as the belly of a fish. Lancelot directed the men to lower her gently into his arms.
I realized with a start that Merlin was so involved in his storytelling, he had forgotten who sat to his left. It was odd to be so spoken of.
Merlin said, “I thought, ‘It is her!’ This frail little thing summoned the power to send me the vision, yet she’d been bound and dying. How powerful and strong of will she is!”
Lady Morgaine’s chair creaked ominously again.
Lord Merlin seemed not to notice and continued:
“Never seen a girl with a face like that,’ the king said wonderingly. “She’s lovely … save for the lash mark.”
Merlin told him, “It was she who called to me and warned me of the beast that would come to our shores.”
“Sir Lancelot! Is she alive?” the king called out.
“Just barely,” Lancelot said, as he wrapped the girl in his cloak and rode over.
The king said, “Merlin tells me this girl sent him the dream.”
Lancelot looked uncomfortable. It was well known that his Christian faith didn’t allow him to permit magick or use of the Sight in his presence. Yet, he said, “We must care for her.”
Merlin said, “I will take her to Avalon.”
“Lancelot said, “It’s a good place for her.”
“Interesting,” Lady Morgaine interrupted and turned to me. “Lancelot’s foster mother was the previous Lady of the Lake, Viviene. But he has turned from the Goddess. Curious he didn’t demand you be committed to a nunnery.”
“A what?” I found any distraction from my fears welcome.
“The Christians segregate the sexes. Women are often put in small joyless buildings, there to worship their sexless god.”
“How odd.” My voice was barely a whisper.
Lord Merlin continued, “One of the villagers gave me an old dress for the woman from the ship. Another a cloak. Word got around quickly that the woman with the lash mark had sent a magickal message to me—I am known to the people of the land—and brought them the help that saved them. Many stopped and touched the woman. You, Anya,” he said, finally recalling I was there. “A little boy brought you a seashell and slipped it into your unconscious hand. It shaded from dark blue at the base to white at the edge.” Merlin blinked a moment. “Why, there it is—just at your throat!”
I touched the shell necklace that Mabina had helped me make. A gift from a grateful boy?
Lord Merlin continued: “Soon, I had you wrapped in a blanket and put in front of me on my horse. Much slower than we’d ridden out to reach Wyke Regis, we rode back to Camelot. At the turning in the forest, I broke away from the party and headed down the secret path to the Holy Isle of Avalon. Only once in those days did you make a sound, Anya. Just as we neared the island, the bells of Glast Abbey rang. You shivered and gasped.
“That’s when I knew you were a priestess, Anya. I said to you, ‘Do not worry, my dear. You’ll be safe in just a little while.’
“Soon, we rode into the cluster of crofts beside the Lake at Avalon. The Lady Morgaine, her priestesses, and initiates, came out to greet us. Through the Sight, they knew of my arrival and what I brought to them. Many hands reached up to take you off the horse and into the healer’s house. I said, ‘Take care of her. She has the Goddess’s blessing!’”
Lady Morgaine broke in: “And I said, ‘Be sure we will take care of our sister!’ And we have.”
“And this humble servant is grateful for it.” I bowed low to hide my flushed face and shaking hands.
I turned and bowed to Lord Merlin. I resolved to swallow my fear and say the proper things. “Thank you for telling me of these events, my Lord. I had wondered how I was so fortunate to awake in Avalon. I am deeply grateful you heard me and saved the village. You are more than kind to have personally brought me he
nce.”
He nodded, looking pleased. It was obvious he had not noticed my reaction. “Now, a tale for a tale. Tell us of your life, Anya. How did you come to be on that ship, and where are you from?” Merlin asked.
I paused, considering. I could not shirk this duty. A high priest commanded me to tell the tale of who I was. But bards weren’t the only tellers of tales that might or might not be true. The Lady of my old Motherhouse once told me the key to storytelling was not to say all, but to relate the heart of a tale. So, I began:
“I am from a place so far from here, we had not heard of Britain in tale or song. I was raised in a Motherhouse just outside of a village called Viborg. We called our land Jutland and our people the Rus. Because of a terrible illness that ravaged our group, I became the Lady of our Sisterhood when I had only sixteen winters.”
“That’s too young!” Lady Morgaine exclaimed.
“I was not old enough and not well prepared for the position, it is true. But, I was the only one left alive who had the training, the Gift, and the ability to bear children. The only other surviving priestesses were elderly and barren. And so, I did what I could. The Land must have a Motherhouse and a Lady to run it.
“Just after Lughnasadh last year, we received word there was a Motherhouse in Groningen whose sisters were threatened by the nearby Christian villagers.”
“How did you discover this?” Lord Merlin asked.
“It was revealed in a vision to the keeper of the shrine.”
Lord Merlin looked as if he might question me further, but Lady Morgaine cleared her throat. He indicated I should continue.
“I chose a few of my girls and some bearers to go by ship to this Motherhouse. But, there was a terrible storm of many days’ duration that drove us very far off course.”
I told them the whole tale of the voyage. It was all I could do to describe the attack by the barbarians—Saxons?—and the loss of everyone. I told them of the attempted rape, and the spell I cast. How the beast whipped my face and tied me to the prow of the boat. How I knew I had lost my girls through my foolishness.
And I told them of the terrible things I saw in the man-monster’s mind.
It was as if I was living it all again. I felt the agony of the ropes, the fierce stinging pain of the salt water in my cuts, and the hopelessness of my predicament.
I closed my eyes and struggled not to fall off the stool. The angry sky, the vicious sea, the madman at my backthey were in my mind and would not leave. Every moment I breathed, I saw those scenes, over and over!
Hot tears poured down my face. I struggled to stifle the shrieking that was always just at the edge of my mind.
I cannot.
It is too much.
He has taken my soul!
Gentle hands touched my shoulders—and with the touch was a strong mind reaching into mine, calming me.
A cup touched my lips, and I swallowed. It was only mead, but it helped a little.
I forced myself to do the breathing. To see the image of the sacred water in the bowl.
Lord Merlin whispered, “Anya, you’re safe here. You are in Avalon. Safe.”
I am Anya. A servant of the Goddess.
No barbarian can destroy me if I will not allow it.
I must not give in.
Must. Not.
The face of the beast retreated.
I opened my eyes to discover Lord Merlin and Lady Morgaine bent near me, watching me closely. I was still shivering, but not as badly. “I—I apologize for giving in to the fear.”
“You are very strong, my dear,” Lord Merlin said. “Few could go through such an ordeal and not go mad—man or woman.”
“You did the right thing in casting that spell. You were protecting your girls,” Lady Morgaine said.
“And got them killed.” My sorrow was like a great thunderhead in my soul. It filled all my horizons.
“They would have been slaughtered after they were raped or died during the raping,” Lady Morgaine said. “It seems cold to say this, but those men weren’t going to be merciful to you and your people, no matter what you did.”
I saw the sense in this.
It did not make me feel better.
“We are fortunate to have a high priestess from another House here in Avalon,” Lord Merlin said, changing the subject.
Lady Morgaine’s brow furrowed, and she cast me an ugly glance.
“No,” I said hastily, “I do not want to be high priestess of any House. That was never my wish, only a necessity. I studied to be healer. That is all I want to be. I beg you, Lady, let me serve the women of Avalon, be their healer, along with Mabina, and take Mabina’s place when she goes to the Summerlands.”
Lady Morgaine nodded, settling back in her chair. “Mabina has told me you’re gifted with the healing arts. She says you have more knowledge than she.”
“Oh, not so! She is even more learned than my teacher at my old Motherhouse. So many of your plants are different than the ones I was taught. Your healing songs are different and often more potent than ones I learned. There is much I still do not know.”
“Let it be so,” Lady Morgaine said. “You will be an assistant to Mabina. But you must also complete your initiation in the rites as we observe them in Avalon.”
“Yes, my Lady. I will do as you say.”
Lady Morgaine waved her leave that I might go. But as I departed, I saw Lord Merlin watching me. His look struck deep into my heart in a way I had never felt before.
How can this be? He is so old, and I am so young?
But it was so.
Chapter Eleven
For the next three moons after that first meeting with Lord Merlin, I continued to study the mysteries of Avalon and learn the herblore of Britain. Finally, I was able to read and write in the tongue of the land. I was as content as it was possible to be.
As long as I did not think too hard about what came before this.
Occasionally, Lord Merlin returned to Avalon. Each time, he sought me out. My heart pounded so in his presence! Why did he have such an effect on me? He was in no way handsome. Mabina told me she recalled him when he was young. She’d been a new priestess when he first came to study. That made him even older than I thought!
And yet … it did not seem to matter to my heart.
It was hard to look up at him. I had ceased to cover the scar on my cheek in front of the other initiates, but in front of Merlin, I could feel the stiff skin grow hot. I put my hand over it.
Near the end of my studies, I nearly ran into Lord Merlin as he was coming out of Lady Morgaine’s croft. I bowed. My hand immediately went to my cheek.
Gently, he removed it. “Anya, my dear, I know that mark causes you pain in your heart as much as of your body.”
I looked away. There was a pang in my soul at his words.
“But, it’s time to change your way of thinking. You cannot remove that wound. But you can know it as a mark of honor.”
I turned back. “How so?”
“He could only beat your body, tie you up, torture you. But he could not break you. Instead, through space and time, you called up an entire army to defeat him. You triumphed over him!” Merlin said.
My mouth dropped open.
He nodded to me and walked away.
I was left standing there, rooted to the spot with only one thought:
I defeated the beast!
At last, my re-training was over. On the first night of the full harvest moon, all of Avalon gathered to consecrate its latest priestess. Dressed only in the air around me and a few flowers woven into my hair, I walked slowly up the processional path to the Sacred Grove. Here, the way was lit solely by the light of the moon. The priestesses-in-training, robed in white, lined the way, for they were not allowed inside the hallowed ground. They beat on hand drums and chanted the hundred names of the Goddess.
I entered the grove and beheld the torchlit Sacred Stone Circle, silver-white with the lifeglow. Here, the women who served the Godde
ss needed no clothes. The younger priestesses lined the way to the rock-bracketed entrance, playing hand-drums and shaking frames of small brass bells. They, too, chanted the hundred names of the Goddess.
My blood seemed to echo the song.
I stepped in to the sacred enclosure. There, the elder priestesses chanted and danced in a circle around a center stone, at which stood the high priestess, wearing a crown of deer antlers, the tips dipped in gold. They sparked red and gold in the torchlight. Lady Morgaine’s lifeglow seemed twice as large and tinged with white sparks. The smell of burning sage was thick in the air. Four priestesses beat on the largest of the rocks with thick oak rods. The bluestones rang like bells of different tones, depending on where the priestesses struck them.
Each strike seemed to reverberate inside my bones.
Mabina held up an ancient wooden bowl which held three leaves of dried henbane. I bowed and placed the herbs in my mouth, making sure to chew slowly. The bitter flavor made my mouth water and dry at the same time. I struggled to swallow them down.
Mabina bowed and stepped to the side.
I walked to the center of the Sacred Circle and prostrated myself on the grass before the high priestess.
There was a sudden silence.
“What do you here?” the high priestess demanded in a voice that was deeper, richer than Lady Morgaine’s.
I called out my part of the ritual: “I have studied the ways of the Goddess. I ask to serve Her for all time. I submit myself to Her Way and the Sisterhood of Avalon!”
The magick of the henbane leaves was released. At the edge of my vision, I began to see colors and movement that might or might not be there.
Time slowed.
Stopped.
I existed between heartbeats.
I could feel the Goddess moving inside the circle. Watching. Studying the activity. Seeing me.
A storm of notes reverberated from the stones, and time began again.
“Praise be the Goddess!” half of the priestess shouted.
“Blessed be the servant!” the other half shouted back. The two groups vied with each other, over and over, to be loudest.
The Priestess of Camelot Page 5
