I did not make her say that. I could feel Merlin thinking the same thing.
I caused the golden lady to disappear.
There was a long, stunned silence, then the room erupted in pandemonium!
Father Paulius shouted above the din, “It was the Holy Grail! The very vessel used by Joseph of Arimathea to collect the blood of our Lord Jesus Christ when he died upon the cross!”
Collect the blood? Not gave water to the dying man? Are we wrong? I wondered.
“The woman carrying it,” Father Paulius said in an awestruck voice to the now quiet room, “must be the Blessed Virgin—Mary, mother of Jesus!”
The court returned to shouting and random bellows of excited men. One knight after another announced he would go on a quest to return the Grail to Camelot and prove themselves worthy before God. Even King Arthur proclaimed himself to the task. Father Paulius made them swear vows of chastity before he would bless their venture.
Everything was going perfectly according to the plan.
Suddenly, I felt rising panic from Merlin. Where is it? Where did it go?
I reached out with him, trying to locate Avalon’s most sacred possession …
It was nowhere in the castle!
I felt Merlin’s heart race to an unsustainable pace. And then, he collapsed. Terrified, I probed him, but found he had merely swooned.
No one saw him as he slipped under the table.
My power faded … stopped.
I was unable to reach out to anyone to help my Merlin.
Hastily, I threw on my shift and ran back to Drunemeton. I tried connecting with him by holding his harp—it had worked before—but my Sight was blocked.
It seemed an age until Merlin finally made his way back home well after dark. He was still pale when he walked in the door. I took him to his study, asking Droja to bring some mulled wine. I told Eoghann to leave us.
I did not let him speak. Taking his face in my hands, I carefully examined him to discover if he was ill. There was nothing wrong. But there was a grayish pall to his aura.
“Tell me,” I said.
“I’m sorry,” Merlin said. “I felt so unwell once I woke up—still on the floor under the table—that I wasn’t able to make the journey until now.”
“It is my fault.” I handed him the wine. “I should not have put forward this mad plan. I thought it was from the Goddess, but obviously this was some sort of wickedness from my own mind.”
“No,” Merlin said. He took the wine from me. But his hands shook so hard, I had to take the cup back from him. “I have been a priest for more years than you’ve been alive. I made this come to pass. The error, if there was one, was mine.”
“Where could it be? And why has She taken it away?” I asked, sitting next to him.
He shook his head sadly; then went up to bed.
I stared into the fire until very late.
But I found no answers.
For many moons, I went nightly to the Sacred Grove, begging the Goddess to reveal where the chalice was. At least let me see that it was safe and could be returned.
The Goddess said nothing.
Merlin did not accompany me, except on specific holy days. “The Goddess took back Her chalice, Anya,” he said. “She will return it—or not—when She’s ready. Badgering Her from your Grove won’t help anything.”
He seemed tired and distant to me.
Eventually, I accepted that Merlin was right.
There was nothing I could do to get the chalice back.
Over the next two years, we heard of chalice sightings all over the country, and even as far away as Little Britain. The king returned to Camelot after three moons. It was said he came back saddened. One by one, knights went back to the castle. Yet, others did not. Galahad—Lancelot’s son and a great knight of renown—disappeared. Lancelot himself was last seen as a hermit in the woods. He was said to be quite mad. Several more knights were reported killed in the foolish quest.
Each of those unnecessary deaths felt like a large stone on my soul.
Although Merlin said he did not blame me for the chalice’s disappearance and the knights’ deaths, he came home less and less. I heard from travelers that they saw him and Eoghann on the road, as was his wont. But then he stayed in Camelot instead of coming home.
Have I lost him?
Chapter Forty-Seven
One of the first lessons I learned in the Viborg Motherhouse was: “If you make a mess, clean it up.” The Grail Quest was certainly a mess, but it was too big to clean it all away. I decided to do the next best thing and take care of one small part of the disaster.
A week later, I rode into a clearing in the Forest Sauvage. There, beneath a rowan tree, sat a hermit. His long white-gold hair and beard were tangled with leaves and branches. His clothes were in tatters. His face was smudged with dirt. His lifeglow was dim and muddy: the colors almost looked like a bruise. He muttered just loudly enough for me to hear, “Not pure enough. Not pure enough.” All the while, he petted a brown and gray rabbit, which sat calmly in his long fingers.
I slipped off my horse and approached the man slowly. “Lancelot?” But, he did not seem to hear.
The rabbit watched my approach, nose twitching.
I stood before the ragged knight and placed my hands on either side of his head. I began singing the song of healing—at first quietly, then louder—calling upon the power that was mine. After a long while, I stopped and removed my hands.
The bunny looked up at me anxiously.
The man mumbled, “Not. . .” Then he paused and blinked several times. He peered around and spotted me. “Lady Anya?”
“Hello, Sir Lancelot. How do you feel?”
“Confused,” Lancelot said, still petting the rabbit. He looked down at himself. “How long have I been here? What happened to me?”
“As I hear it, you have been a hermit for five or six moons. Do you not recall the how and the why of it?”
For a moment, Lancelot’s face went blank. Then he sucked in his breath. “Oh, God,” he whispered and closed his eyes.
“Do not give in to the pain, Lancelot. Stay here, with me,” I commanded gently.
Slowly, he opened his eyes. “I was hunting the Grail with Percival. We came upon a small stone chapel at a crossroads. I looked in and the altar was set for High Mass; there were gold and silver candlesticks on a cloth of gold and a golden cross with rubies. And before the cross sat the Grail itself! I reached out, and a voice said, ‘It is not for thee, Lancelot du Lac. Thou art not pure enough for it.’ And then it was gone!” He began to cry, not in manly tears, but as a child will, in great gasping sobs and wailing, not attempting to hide his pain.
My heart sank. What is the Goddess doing? And why torture the poor man? “Alas, Lancelot. I am sorry.” I meant it with all my heart. “There will only be one who will take possession of the Grail, and he will pay dearly.” Having said it, I knew it is true. Who would it be? I probed the Sight. But it would not reveal itself.
“It’s a punishment. . .for wanting the queen. . . all these years,” Lancelot admitted in between sobs.
“Perhaps. And possibly, it was simply not for you. Mayhap it was not your path.”
His sobs slowed, then stopped. “Not my path?”
“You have had the honor and glory to help King Arthur forge a kingdom. You have been the bravest, most chivalrous, most conscientious knight of all the realm. You have had your time. And there are still adventures and challenges to be met. But the young ones must also have their valorous deeds. Surely there is enough space in the world for them to have their day as well?”
Lancelot sat a long time pondering this, petting the rabbit all the while. “I’ve done many things that would make me impure.”
I shrugged. “Who above five winters is pure?”
Startled, he looked up. “You aren’t?”
I laughed mirthlessly. “Hardly.”
Lancelot looked away. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Yes,” he said with a sniff. “Live with the consequences.”
“Should you not be getting back to Camelot?”
He refused to meet my gaze. “Would they even let this old sinner in the gates?”
“With open arms. It is said the king mourns all the knights who left on the Grail Quest. But most of all, he wishes his best companion would return to him. And then there’s the queen—”
Lancelot darted a glance at me. “What of that lady?”
“It is said she spends many days standing on the battlements, staring out, looking for someone.” In this, I did not exaggerate, for I could see it in my mind as I said it.
“Then, I guess I must return.” Gently, Lancelot placed the rabbit on the ground and struggled to stand. I had to assist him to straighten up. He rolled his shoulders, as if trying to fit his soul back into his body. He took a few staggering steps, his joints stiff with sitting. “It’s a long way,” he admitted.
“Indeed. Wait here a moment.” I reached out with my mind.
Presently, a large white-dappled stallion appeared in the clearing. “Xanthus!” Lancelot exclaimed.
The horse trotted over to his master. Lancelot hugged the great horse’s neck. “Oh, dear friend,” Lancelot whispered. “Can you ever forgive me for abandoning you?” After a long while, Lancelot looked over at me. “Thank you.”
I dipped my head. “The honor is to serve.”
“Yes, yes, it is,” he said. He held on to Xanthus’ ragged mane, giving me a dazed smile. “I will tell everyone how you saved me.”
I put up a hand. “I would rather you did not. Some love me not, most will not care to hear about me, and others. . . it will just cause pain.”
Lancelot’s eyes filled with compassion. “It’s true then. You and Arthur?”
I could only sigh. It seemed long ago and a world away. “Get on your horse, good knight.”
He nodded and did so.
“But wait.” I looked around and commanded the creature to come. Up hopped the bunny from its hiding place behind the tree where it ran at the approach of the great horse. It skittered into my hand, and I gave it to Lancelot. “Do not leave her here.”
“Would she not be happier in this glade?” he asked.
“She will pine away and die, for she loves you much, in her fashion. Surely you know how that feels.”
The knight’s eyes filled with tears. Lancelot held the rabbit up and touched foreheads with the bunny. The small creature’s eyes closed in joy. Lancelot placed the rabbit inside his shirt. “I used to think my mother was the greatest of all the priestesses. Now, I see that I was wrong. It is you.”
I merely shook my head and pointed the way back to Camelot. He tapped the horse’s side and rode off.
I returned to my horse but did not mount. I stood a long time holding on to its neck.
Did I make things better? Or worse?
It is so hard to tell.
In a fortnight, Merlin came home. He sat playing with Falcon, who was a very clever green-eyed boy of four now. “Oh, Sir Lancelot returned to the Castle,” he said, not looking at me.
“Ah? Good.”
“I thought you didn’t care for him?” he said.
“I’ve no great love for him, no. But he has never done me harm,” I said.
“He came back looking like a beggar. It took them three days to get him properly barbered and bathed. Looks almost his old self again. But. . . ” he tickled his son and chuckled at the squeals he got. “He’s still quite mad. Carries around a coney he found out in the wild. Won’t let it out of his sight. The young knights have started to call him Sir Rabbit.” Merlin conjured up a cloth bunny and hopped it all around Falcon. The boy screamed with delight.
I watched them play, my heart heavy.
Once again, I have made everything worse.
Six moons later, we had word that Galahad found the Grail in nearby Glast Abbey. But when he went to take the chalice, he and it disappeared from Britain forever.
I was so devastated by the news, I could not rise from my bed for a moon.
And you reading this: What do you judge? Was my plan righteous? Did I do mischief? Was I misguided?
I do not know how to assess my own deeds. It seems I hurt everyone to no purpose. Many days, I awake and wish I had not been born.
How was this helpful to Britain or the Goddess?
Chapter Forty-Eight
And still, Merlin stayed away.
I racked my brain with plans how I might redeem myself in his eyes.
I tried using the Three Words of Apology that usually resulted in some form of forgiveness, when he was briefly home.
Merlin turned away. “There is nothing to forgive,” he said in a voice devoid of emotion.
I knew I must do something to atone that would have meaning for him.
Eventually, a plan came to me.
The next time Merlin stopped at Drunemeton House, after everyone went to bed, I went to his study. He did not look up but kept writing on a parchment. “What is it, my dear? I’m rather busy.”
I sat on the stool by the fire. “At the next moon, I will go to Avalon and submit myself to Morgaine for punishment.”
“No!” He threw down his quill and glared at me. “You’ll do no such thing!” It was the first time he had ever shouted at me. His lifeglow shifted and became a muddy brown shot through with red. Darkness clouded his brow. I quailed at his rage. “You have our son to take care of, a home to keep. You’ll stay here.”
But I knew what I knew. “Someone must pay for this tragedy, Merlin. It was my idea. My plan. My magick—.”
“Mine as well,” he cut me off, glaring. “Be sure, my dear, that the High Priest of the Druids needs no one to claim responsibility for his acts.”
I blinked back tears. He was entirely closed off from me. For the first time since I had met him, I felt him a stranger.
Merlin turned back to his parchment. His voice softened a bit. “What’s done is done. It is past. Let it be.”
Then he was gone the next day.
Near Mabon, Fredic came running in to tell me, “Lord Merlin’s coming home! I just seen him and Eoghann coming down the road!”
I dropped the spinning I was working on. Merlin had not been home since late summer. I ran upstairs to change and called over my shoulder that Droja should make something special for the evening meal. Heart hammering, I struggled out of my homespun and into a nicer dress.
“Mama!” Falcon called out.
On the way to the boy’s room, I heard him coughing heavily. “Yes, my own love?” I said as I entered.
Nurse Lota was holding the boy as he stood in his bed, looking out the window. “I see Papa coming!” he shouted, then started coughing again. Lota helped him to lie down. The child was pale with hot pink cheeks. There was sweat upon his brow, and the lifeglow showed a bit of a gray tinge. It was a serious illness that stalked him.
I put my hand to the boy’s forehead, then my head on his small chest. I could hear the phlegm forcing him to wheeze. It was good things were moving, but he was at a dangerous phase of this particular sickness. I kissed his hot forehead. There was fever where there should not be. “I know your father is coming. I was just going down to welcome him.”
“I want to see him!” the boy demanded.
“I will ask him to come up, but you must stay abed. You are quite sick, and we want you well.”
“I want Papa!” he wailed. Falcon was usually not a fussy child, but the sickness made him irritable.
“I promise I will send him up to see you. But you must pledge to be good and quiet. You know your father loves you and will not want to bother you if you are ill.”
Falcon settled down and nodded gravely. “Stupid cough.”
“Truly.” I kissed him on th
e top of his head, feeling the sweaty red-brown hair under my lips. “Lota, a cold cloth to the forehead for the next hour please.”
I would have to brew a stronger remedy.
“Aye, Lady,” she said.
Hearing the horses in the forecourt, I hastened out of the room and down the stairs, vowing to say nothing of the chalice.
Once he finally came in, I hugged him tightly, so glad to have him home. But when I opened my eyes, I spied a long blond hair on his shoulder. The skin at the nape of my neck prickled as if it was an adder. I plucked it off his cloak as he moved to stand near the fire. “Merlin …”
“Yes, my dear?” he asked, avoiding my eyes.
Droja removed his cloak and took it into the next room. Eoghann followed her out. Merlin sat on his good chair near the hearth.
I went to him and held the strand up near his failing eyes. “What is this?”
Merlin squinted a bit. “Eh? Oh! I gave Elise—Cai’s granddaughter—a charm so she wouldn’t suffer so in childbirth. She hugged me.” He smiled, as if remembering the embrace.
“All men lie, but they lie especially about love and love-making,” Jasoslava told me once. I asked the old healer if that gave them power over women. Jasoslava laughed that mad cackle of hers. “Only if you let them.”
I turned my attention to the hair. Instantly, I saw its owner. She was a willowy, comely maid with hair the color of autumn honey, a face full of sunbeams, and dark eyes with the light of threatening storms.
I felt death creep into the room.
My silence made Merlin nervous. “You know I was just saying to Elise—”
I stopped him with my other hand. “Do not treat me like the featherbrained women at court. I am not dazzled by words sprinkled about to misdirect and mislead.”
He sighed and said nothing more. I noticed his lifeglow seemed diminished somehow.
I was the last person who could claim hurt about an affair. But this, I felt, was more. I rubbed the hair between my thumb and forefinger, feeling the malice from that single strand, then let it drift down onto the hearth. “I will say only this: She is not what she seems. You tempt your fate with this dalliance.” Morgaine is behind this. I am not sure how, but I know it in my bones.
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