“I have only tried to be of use!” I said, struggling to keep my voice calm. “Lady Morgaine installed me here as healer. A healer I have been. I want nothing more, ask for nothing more, than what I have been asked to do.”
Rowena smirked. “Be sure I will discuss your behavior here. It may be that the Lady will assign you to some other task. Someplace where you’ll not be tempted to take on such airs.” Turning abruptly, Rowena stalked back down the hall, toward the royal apartments.
I heard it, then. A whisper—a murmur—from people unseen. Rowena was using mindspeech with Morgaine!
I was left standing there, knees shaking. A line of sweat trickled down my spine.
Morgaine will use the Sight, and she will know about Arthur and me!
I found myself running down the hallway to my room, as if my feet had already made my decision. I grabbed a basket and threw in some useful items. Stopping by the kitchen, I told Lavena I had to go out into the countryside—far out—to find some rare herbs to restock my depleted supply. I might not be back for several days.
Giving me a few seed cakes, Lavena said, “I envy you the freedom to tramp about in this fine weather. Enjoy it for me, will you?”
I hugged her and dashed out before I could change my mind.
Where was she going? you who read this will ask.
I could not say then or now. A part of me craved to return to Viborg, but I knew it was an impossibly long way to go—and surely there was no way to walk there. It was as if I was pulled northward.
And so, one day became another, and still I walked on.
I walked and walked. At night, I laid down under the trees, hiding from the waxing Wind Moon’s light. If it was wet, I found a cave or a dry spot under a tree. After the seed cakes ran out, I ate what I found growing or did without.
All the while, I headed north.
One night, I dreamt of Arthur, standing on Camelot’s rampart, looking out, wondering where I was and why I ran away. He wanted to send a search party for me but knew he could not. There would be too many questions about why the king should care about the little healer woman. And so, he did nothing, and secretly prayed to the Goddess that I would return.
The dream only spurred me to walk faster away from Camelot.
I came to a field filled with the plants the British call foxglove. I had never seen so many different colors—white and pink and purple stretching for as far as the eye can see. There was only one lone oak tree, an enormous thing, in the middle of the horizon.
Above me, a strange cloud formed. It was in the shape of a giant wing. The edge of it shone with iridescence, a cloud-to-cloud rainbow.
I had never seen the like. I felt caught between the colors on the ground and in the air. Suspended.
And then the Vision came once again upon me.
Instantly, I was on a tall, tall white-faced cliff, looking out to sea, trying to spy my homeland, but it was too far away. I tried to locate my Motherhouse with the Sight, but when I looked to the east, all I saw are dark clouds.
“I want to go home,” I said aloud.
That way is closed to you now, Anya of the Rus, said the voice behind me.
“What shall I do now? Where is my home if not there?”
I have provided you with a new home, a new destiny, if you will but choose it.
“I am afraid.”
It is frightening to start in a new direction. But, I am here with you. Trust in Me and I will not let you fail. Choose the path I provide and help Me shape this realm’s fate.
“Who am I to assist you?” For I knew the voice belonged to the Goddess.
You are you. You are who I need to accomplish a great task. Come, see this great land in which you are now. See if it does not deserve your devotion.
I broke free of the vision.
“No!” I shouted at the sky. “They are mad, these people of yours. And dangerous! You can have these strange folk! I will have none of it. Leave me be!”
I heard a step behind me. Before I could turn to see who it was, something crashed into my head …
And I knew no more.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Merlin’s Woman
Spring 562
Kidnapped!
I could not figure out where I was. And I was so dizzy and logy, I could not focus well.
Above me, the star-scattered sky was giving way to a rose-streaked dawn.
My back was cold—icy-cold. What am I lying on? I rubbed a rough stone surface under my hand.
Why am I lying on a slab of rock?
And where are my clothes?
I heard a sound and turned.
There is a naked man covered in rough colored paste lying beside me!
I sat up, terror filling me. What has happened to me?!
The man gripped my wrist and stared deep into my eyes
I knew those kind gray eyes.
“Merlin?” I whispered.
He smiled, looking totally ridiculous, his beard and face all smeared green, blue, white, and red. “Hello, Anya, my dear.”
I laughed, because he looked funny, and I must have looked the same. And because, of all the people to be caught up in a strange place with, I somehow ended up in the arms of my beloved.
He laughed as well. I leaned over and kissed him. It felt as if I was melting into his mouth.
“How did this happen?” I said, when we parted.
“It was Beltane magick.”
I struggled to recall the last few days but could not. How did it get to be Beltane already?
My mind wandered back to my days at the Viborg Motherhouse, as a very young high priestess celebrating the spring fertility rite. The scene blended into the way the rite was celebrated at Avalon, the last time I celebrated there. My priestess sisters and I capered under the Flower Moon in the Sacred Circle, dancing to the music of flutes and tambours and bells, our minds freed with the spring wine.
Then I had been in Camelot. Many things had happened. I wasn’t clear on what. I recalled running into the wild woods outside of the castle, going ever north. Where was I headed? I could not say. But on and on I went.
Until one day when the Goddess spoke to me, reminding me of my duties. I did not want to hear Her words. I had flung my denial into the sky…
And now I was here.
“Anya?” Merlin said, stroking the length of my side in a way that instantly aroused me.
I had only wanted to be with Merlin since the first time I met him. How is it possible we are together here, in this strange place?
“Are you all right?” he asked.
I laughed again, because the world was an impossible place. I opened my body and mind to him, and we seemed to blend into each other. Thoughts swirled around each other, caressing as sensuously as fingers. Impressions become action as a green and purple hand caressed a blue and red breast. Yellow and blue fingers stroked a stiffening green rod.
Whose hand or tongue touched which part did not matter—it was all the same, all loved, all desired. Every sensation brought waves of excitement and pleasure unknown to either mind before. And then we were joined together physically, as well. Each movement created shimmers of pleasure. Desire was a brilliant scarlet, binding us and building.
Finally, there came a moment of release so intense, it was as if the sky rained stars of exquisite delight. The sensation went on and on, past all ability to cope.
We surrendered to each other, tangled up in body and thought.
We woke again at the same time. I heard a stream nearby and wordlessly urged Merlin to come with me. I took him to a little beach, an island in the stream, and had him sit on a rock that was already warmed by the sun. I dove into the cold water, rubbing off the paste and refreshing my sex-soaked body.
I went back to him. Scooping up clean sand, I washed the colored paste off of him. Slowly, his skin and the mystical symbols inscribed there were revealed. From his wrist up his arms and across his shoulder to the other wrist were tattooed in woa
d: the swirls, knots, mystical twists and trees of his order. Although I was aware they were sacred symbols, I did not know what they meant. Nor would he ever tell me. The teaching of these was held sacred unto the Druids.
I have missed you so very much, Merlin said in my mind.
I could feel his heart beating in time with mine. Our thoughts were so close to one another. It seemed strange to walk around in my own body after being one.
“And I, you,” I said aloud.
I felt the tendril that was Merlin slip out of my mind. He said, “The Goddess must care for us very much to have gone to all that trouble to put us together like that on Beltane.”
“Hm,” I said, suddenly recalling why I ran away from Camelot. Briefly, my mind showed me Arthur’s face as we made love. Immediately, I was ashamed of my duplicity. And then, I felt separate and alone from Merlin. “How came you here?” I asked, trying to put him off.
“I’d completed about half of the castles I intended to visit, when I stopped at the keep of Sir Alymere,” Merlin began his story. As always, I saw the tale in my mind as if I had lived it. But perhaps because our minds were recently joined, the scenes were particularly vivid.
I could see Alymere’s castle in great detail, although I had never been there. But I did know the knight. He was a tall but stooped man of middle years with a gray and black beard that always wanted combing. Fierce dark eyes sparkled with his inner fire. He was one of the few who had been kind to me at court. I had always suspected he was a secret follower of the Goddess.
He greeted Merlin with the respect due to an emissary of King Arthur but also the formality that befitted a High Priest. The finest tidbits from the kitchen were brought out. Alymere urged Merlin to sit in his large chair near the fire.
“No, no. Another seat is fine,” Merlin said.
“Please, my Lord Merlin,” Alymere said.
Merlin settled in with hardly-disguised pleasure in the comfortable chair. He enjoyed the fuss the household made over him. It was rare when he was respected properly, and he was deeply pleased at the attention.
After a pleasant discussion of nothings, Merlin turned to the business which brought him, but Alymere will not hear of it.
“Honored sir, tonight is Beltane and the hour is late. We should not sit here prating of policy when our duties are to the Goddess and the Land!”
Merlin was torn. He would rather get his business done and be gone in the morning, but he realized why his host seemed anxious. “Of course,” he said. “I imagine you will be the god of the field tonight? I hope the goddess of the night is appropriately toothsome!”
Alymere chuckled. “Yes, she’s a comely lass—as golden as the fields will be at harvest, Goddess willing. But as you are here, I know the villagers will be more than honored to have the high priest play the part of the god.”
“No, no!” Merlin said and tried to laugh it off. “I am an old man. You are their lord. It is your right and duty.”
“Please, I insist,” Alymere said.
Merlin could feel how the knight meant his offer as a great compliment. But Merlin had tried to avoid Beltane celebrations since his years numbered over fifty. He tried to demure, but Alymere would have none of it. Finally, Alymere prevailed, and the arrangements were made.
Later that night, Merlin was painted in the colors of the god and given the “Milk of the Goddess”—a strong drink that made the body lustful and the mind less inclined to fight it. He was led out to the fields lit by great bonfires. Villagers danced in celebration of the ancient fertility rite. As he was led to the makeshift “Beltane hut,” a crowd gathered. They sang and danced and cheered that the Goddess had sent them Merlin to consecrate the fields. It was a heady feeling, and Merlin wondered why he had avoided this kind of celebration for so long. His blood thrummed in his veins, and his manhood stirred in anticipation as they escorted him into the stick- and sheave-built croft and shut the door.
There, he discovered a young maid, smeared with colors and shivering in fear. “It’s all right, my dear. I will not hurt you.”
Instead of calming her, she stared at his stiffening rod and shrieked! Leaping up, she broke through the cornstalk wall and ran off into the night.
I broke the story-spell with my giggling. I could not help it. What a horrible result, and how humiliating!
Merlin chuckled as well, although it had a rueful sound. “Oh, you may well laugh. It gave me the sad giggles for quite a while. But then, I admit, it made me feel very old.”
“You are not so old.” I kissed him thoroughly. I truly wanted no other.
He stroked my face and looked into my eyes with a kind of wonder. “I am glad you think so.”
“But tell your tale.” I sat next to him.
He started the story up again. “The wine I drank wouldn’t let me rest. I felt the need to get away.”
I fell into the spell again.
Merlin slipped out of the hut. There was a hue and cry going on as people chased the panicked young “goddess” in the fields. No one paid any attention to him. He grabbed his cloak and trotted back to the castle. He took his horse, Aster, from the stall—the stable boys were all in the fields—and rode away from the village.
Merlin did not care where he went. The need was in him to be with his horse in the dark of the night—a creature in flight among the wild things. Aster seemed to know the way and raced along the dark path.
A short time later, at the edge of the forest, Merlin saw firelight and heard strange music. He directed Aster to a spot nearby and dismounted. Creeping through the trees, he spied another Beltane celebration. But these were the old people—the ones who lived there long before Romans had ever sought the land. Their music was ancient—played on clay flutes and skin drums—and the dancing wild! An old stone altar stood to one side, a large wicker man bonfire on the other. Between the two danced small dark people painted in many colors.
Among them danced one who was taller and more graceful. She moved in a sinuous way, stooping here to kiss a man, there to prance about with a woman. From time to time, she shoved a man and woman together, and the crowd made a noise halfway between a roar and a laugh.
The spell broke momentarily as I realized with a start he was talking about me!
Merlin kissed me. “I didn’t know it was you. But the goddess of the night commanded my heart, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.”
He continued his tale and I slipped back into the spell:
The goddess of the night danced nearer and nearer to Merlin. She found him in the shadows of the trees and pulled him into the light. Abruptly, she dragged off his cloak, then danced around him in a seductive way. But when he raised a hand to take her, she moved out of reach. With a merry laugh, she capered away again.
There was an ache in Merlin’s soul. As if a part of him—long separated—had failed to merge. He wanted this woman as he had never wanted anything in his life.
The Pict men came and daubed green paste on him, even though he still wore the paint from Alymere’s castle. They handed him a gourd with the Milk of the Goddess and with gestures showed that he must drink. It was much more powerful and rough-tasting than the villagers’ brew. He felt drunk, but energized; dizzy, but strangely powerful.
He noticed the music had stopped. Then he saw that the people themselves were unmoving, frozen where they stood with expressions of joy or ecstasy or lust. Dust motes merged with sparks sprinkling the night air forming hoops of fire … or was it that the very stars had begun to fall into the fire?
Time started again, but he was startled to see people dancing in reverse. The music was a strange hiccupping whine. The fire swallowed itself. Had he gone mad?
He blinked hard. Now, the little people were moving forward … but so slowly. The music was the proper speed, but the people moved no quicker than perhaps once every sixteen beats.
He rubbed his eyes, and flakes of the colored paste came off in his fingers. When he looked back up, the dancers and the m
usic were behaving as they ought.
Where was she? Where was the goddess of the night who he desired like an ache?
At last, the woman returned. She danced around and behind Merlin, rubbing against him. He didn’t reach out, knowing she must make the choosing. She was the manifestation of the Goddess. He knew it in his bones. She was no mortal.
Perhaps the small people felt it also, for they drew closer to watch.
Her moves inflamed him, and he felt a powerful lust the likes of which he had never known. He must have her!
But as Merlin reached for her, the men stopped him. An older woman took the painted girl off toward the stone altar. Her smoldering eyes never left his. She wanted him as much as he wanted her!
The men made Merlin drink more of the Milk of the Goddess. He wanted no more, but gagging, he complied.
His thoughts grew dim and simple. Must! Have! That! Woman!
They led him to the altar and the people surrounded him, chanting something.
And she was there, spread wide for him. The hunger in her eyes drew him to her and …
… Merlin reached for me, our minds still locked in the story-spell. I mounted him, there on the beach; his rod was so hard it felt like a hot stone within me. He shouted with me, and it felt as if the very sand, the water, the sky sang out with us, swirling us up into the air with our ecstasy.
A long time later, I was curled up exhausted in his arms. I giggled at our animal lust.
He laughed with me, then kissed me deeply. “You are the most amazing woman I have ever met.”
I had no words. I could only trace the curve of his eyebrow, crusted with white paint, and felt grateful for that moment.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Are you all right?”
I sat up, feeling deliciously sated. “Yes,” I said with a little laugh. “Why?”
“When I awoke this morning, the day was just dawning. You were in my arms, twitching and moaning. I realized who the goddess of the night was. But I also knew you’d been given too much of the Goddess brew and were in danger of slipping away into that permanent twilight that sometimes takes a priest or priestess. Tapping your forehead three times in that place we Druids call the Third Eye, I named you thrice: ‘Anya! Anya! Anya!”
The Priestess of Camelot Page 18
