by Gwen Rowley
It would have to be enough. With the dagger, she cut her finger and dripped blood into the pond. She waited for the moon’s reply, but there was none. It was only a distant white face, slumbering. No energy came to life inside her, no buzz like insects along her skin. The moon did not beg her to respond. Where did the wind hide?
“I call on the powers of the Lady!” she cried, lifting her arms to the moon. “I am of the Donella! I forsook you out of my pride, and I offer my apology. Do not abandon me, I beg of you.” She said the last in almost a whisper.
She stepped into the pond, and sank only to her ankles. Was the water not enough? Was she being punished?
Then suddenly, the moorland came alive with the rush of a cool wind, and Enid gladly swayed with it, her joy growing. Behind her, men shouted their concern, but she ignored it. The Lady’s power rose up inside her, and Enid greeted the awakened moon as an old friend. Her body took on its glow, and at last the energy within her arced with lightning to the moon. As it faded, she was already giving a silent thanks as she strode out of the pond and back to Geraint. She barely felt the cloak that Lovell threw around her.
All along her path men fell back in awe and fear. But the king did not. He was the last to stand between her and Geraint.
He did not look afraid, only grief-stricken and resigned to despair. “It is too late,” he whispered.
But he didn’t try to stop her. She pushed past him and fell to her knees. Geraint was still there, deeply asleep, his life’s force fading. Someone had already burned his wound closed, and he was no longer losing blood. She put her hands on his chest, closed her eyes, and called to the power of a warrior woman. To these she added a call to the Lady of the Lake.
All around her men gasped, and she knew it was because Geraint’s skin glowed where it touched hers. She gave him her courage, her strength, willed him to fight the pull of darkness and death, willed him to live.
She fell back, overcome with the deepest exhaustion she’d ever borne, as if she’d never given so much of herself. She could not yet know if she’d succeeded, but she saw his chest rise with the deepest breath he’d taken.
His father saw it, too. With a cry he dropped to his knees on the other side of Geraint. “He is alive?” he demanded of her.
“I told you so,” she said tiredly. She had to force her eyes open. “I did not bring him back from the dead—I know of no such powers. But I gave him the strength for this one last battle. I only pray it will be enough.”
When the healers moved him into a warm pavilion, Lovell helped her walk there. Throughout the night, Geraint fought a fever, and reopened his wound with his thrashing. Talking to him in quiet moments, she urged him to fight. The healers watched her, their suspicions and fears in their eyes, but she could not help what she was, what she was raised to be.
In the morning, Geraint opened his eyes with lucid-ness and smiled at his father. The king turned away to hide his tears. Enid came to her husband, stumbling with her exhaustion, glad to rest her head on the cushion beside his. She watched with approval as he took several sips of broth.
He smiled and spoke with a hoarse voice. “I am proving such a weakling that soon you’ll leave me.”
“Never,” she whispered. “Now sleep. I will be here when you awaken.”
He glanced down, and she realized that the cloak revealed a hint of her bare breasts.
His eyes alone spoke questions, and she laughed.
“I walked into a pond,” she said, “in front of everyone, even your father.”
He smiled again and closed his eyes. “Sounds like a story worth hearing.”
She kissed him softly and breathed, “I shall tell you all when you awaken.”
BY the afternoon, Enid had slept enough. She could not bear to be apart from Geraint for one more hour. As she walked across the encampment, she looked into the distance, where soldiers buried the dead. Her husband would not be one of them, she thought with relief, though her sorrow for the dead remained.
As her eyes stung with tears, she ran straight into King Erbin. He caught her arm before she stumbled back.
Staring up at him, she said, “Thank you.”
He let her go. “I should be the one thanking you. My wife told me of the goodness of your soul. But I could not believe her, not after I heard such strange tales of you, and saw the way my son could not keep his eyes from you.”
“Love is not enough reason to stare at each other?” she asked softly.
“Aye, it can be. But how can you blame my fears, after what I saw last night?”
“There is magic in the world, sire, including the magic of a loving bond between two people that results in the miracle of birth. I never thought of myself as having these abilities—I was the warrior of my family, destined to train men. Men never looked at me and saw a woman—not until the moment I met your son. I fell in love with him. And in learning of each other, we’ve discovered that our love will not fade and die. I am sorry if I am not the sort of woman you thought he deserved.”
The king shook his head. “It should never have been my place to judge his choices—or yours. Can you forgive me for believing that you meant him ill?”
She nodded. “Will you trust his choices now? He is an adult, and your continued doubt will only harm him.”
“I never meant that,” he said in a quiet voice. “He is my son. I could not believe that he was finished learning from me.”
“We are never done learning from our parents’ experience,” she said, touching his arm.
He nodded. “Geraint is asking for you.”
“I shall go to him. Thank you for the gift of your understanding, sire.”
He gave a faint smile.
Enid ducked beneath the open flap of the pavilion, and to her relief, she saw Geraint propped up amongst cushions. Bandages were wrapped about his chest and shoulder, and none were stained with blood. Though his beloved face showed lines of fatigue and strain, his smile was healthy when he saw her.
The healers bowed to her and left them alone.
She shook her head. “I would like to think that they do that out of respect, but I am not so certain.”
Geraint shrugged. “I care not if they’re afraid of you as long as they show you respect. I understand that not much was shown to you last night.”
He lifted his good arm and she settled beneath it happily.
“I am different, Geraint. You cannot blame your father for questioning my abilities, not with all the rumors he heard.”
“I used to blame him for not trusting me,” he said dryly. “Only I cannot even do that anymore, because he apologized for his doubts.” He took her hand in his and laced their fingers together. “He apologized to me for his behavior last night.”
“And to me as well. Grief and fear had taken over his mind. For a moment, I, too, thought you were dead.”
“But you would not give up on me.”
She looked into his eyes. “I could never give up on the man who knew everything I was and accepted it all.”
He winced. “But not immediately. I was as stubborn as my father.”
“But you supported me when it counted. You believe in me, Geraint.”
He closed his eyes as his head dropped back. “Believe in you? How can you say that after how I treated you? I thought you disloyal. I thought you had to prove yourself to me.”
“We all have to prove ourselves to the ones we love—we just did it after the marriage instead of before. How could you trust me, Geraint? I was lying to you, over and over again. We shared the same fault, because I could not bestow my trust either.”
“Was it the sin of pride then, that we were more concerned about our families than our marriage, this new family we created?”
“I know not.” She sighed and huddled closer to his warmth. “I think we were caught up in our duties, and we had to get through that to see what was most important—each other. I could have succeeded at nothing without you—not my mission, not my transf
ormation from warrior into woman.” She caressed his face. “I love you, Geraint. I said it from the beginning, and I was not wrong.”
He leaned down to kiss her gently. “I love you, too, Enid. Trust that I have put aside all my doubts and fears for the last time. I love you for the woman you are, warrior and sorceress as well.”
She laughed. “I am no longer a sorceress, my husband. The power fled from me so quickly, and left me so exhausted, that I knew it was but one last gift from the Lady. My infamy will have to become only legend, because never again will soldiers see me naked and bathed in moonlight.”
Geraint laughed and hugged her. “I reserve that privilege as mine alone.”
Epilogue
GERAINT had found his equal, his partner in life, and a peace he’d never truly known. He no longer had to doubt himself, or his ability to become king.
After the destruction of the Saxon army, and then Geraint’s recovery, he and Enid returned to the Donella tribe to complete her mission. Since their people were now close allies, he was able to give them all the training they needed to take their place as Cornwall’s equal—no longer would they have to wait behind the battle lines, helping only as archers.
Later that year, King Arthur summoned both Geraint and Enid to Camelot. Together they served as ambassadors for Cornwall and the high king, and once or twice they were known to do battle when necessary. They fought side by side, and their renown spread.
Unless one consulted their children, two boys and two girls, who couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about.
