The Midsummer Wife

by Jacqueline Church Simonds

“Did your family stay down here, Lord Steadbye?” Falke asked.

  “Oh, yes. Several times through history,” Ron said.

  Harper stepped off the ladder. Pointing at the dark recesses of the tunnels, he said, “These side rooms have housed over a hundred people, food for them, and even some small livestock. There’s a midden—the toilet, Falke—in that room there. You can hide down here for a long time.”

  “What about water?”

  “Ah,” Harper said, and motioned them forward.

  They finally came upon a well in a wide spot in the tunnel. The water was clear, but tinged with red.

  “Is it connected to the Chalice Well at the base of Glastonbury Tor?” Ava asked. That famous water source held red water, too.

  “Exactly,” Harper said. He took up a bronze dipper, scooped out a little water, and drank, murmuring his thanks to the Goddess. Then he handed it to Ava.

  Ava whispered her thanks, then had a sip. The water was cool and deeply earthy, touched with the strong tang of iron. She handed the dipper to Ron, who took it and gave thanks silently.

  Harper coached Falke in the words. The boy took a scoop and said his thanks.

  But they seemed to be at a dead end. “But where’s the Grotto?” Ava asked.

  In answer, Harper took a breath and uttered some words. The power echoed for a moment in the tunnel. The rock wall in front of them seemed to shimmer, and then slowly morphed into two large oak doors with beautiful carvings of two men: one wearing a crown and bearing a great sword. The other man was bearded and had a staff; he wore a simple robe: Arthur and Merlin standing together.

  In her doubled vision, she could see the day they were installed; the look of pride on the woodworker’s face was unmistakable. “These doors were carved out of oaks from the Sacred Grove—Anya’s Grove—not long after Arthur was killed,” Ava said.

  “It’s frightening what I don’t know and you do, Cousin,” Harper said.

  “Finish Anya’s book,” Ava said.

  Harper snorted. “I’m working on it!”

  “There’s a key for this, too, I bet,” Falke said.

  Harper shook his head. “No. This place doesn’t like foreign metal objects.” He took off his necklace and removed his phone, then took off his belt, also. Beside him, Ron did the same. “If you’re wearing or carrying any metal, remove it now,” Harper said.

  Ava took off her earrings, necklace, phonestick, and—unnoticed—turned off the mental journal. Very deliberately, she left one item in her pants pocket. The time to reveal that is not yet.

  “Ready?” Harper asked. They all nodded. He stepped before the door and said the incantation. Ava felt the power flow from the ground and rush past her. Harper’s aura swelled and glowed with a golden edge.

  Silently, the massive doors swung open. Stale air with the heavy smells of old candle wax and dust poured out. The room within was black.

  Ron lit two thick beeswax candles that were a foot-and-a-half tall with scalloped sides. He led the way into the Grotto, lighting candles around the room as he entered.

  It looked like a smallish cave with a couple of benches down each side and something up on the wall—a pair of sticks and some sort of lump?

  This is it?

  Harper said a few more words in the ancient language, and the Grotto seemed to expand. The benches became large wooden chests covered with carvings. The sticks on the wall took on more substantial dimensions. The place suddenly felt filled with power.

  “Magic within magic.” Ava reflected that they had no such thing at any of the Sisterhood’s Motherhouses. In her double vision, she saw it as Mother Anya saw it last. It hadn’t changed much. And that was a good thing.

  Harper jumped at Ava’s words. “No woman since Anya has been within these walls in almost 1,500 years.”

  “Besides Arianrhod.”

  “Hm,” he said. Then seeing Ron approach the wooden trunk, he said, “I don’t think we need bother with the tapestries today.”

  “No?” Ron seemed a bit disappointed, but shrugged. “I suppose we’ll all have a good look at them at a later time.”

  “Why don’t you want the tapestries revealed?” Ava asked. “I’d like to see them. I’m sure Falke would, too.”

  “Yeah!” Falke said.

  Harper glared at her, eyes narrowed. “This is not a full formal ceremony. We only unfurl them for those momentous occasions. The fabric is quite fragile!”

  “I hadn’t noticed any tears or thinning the last time we had them up, Harper.” Ron said. “Is there a problem with them you haven’t told me about?”

  “The spells Mother Anya put on the Grotto should have protected them—and everything else in here. Are you seeing some problem with the material?” Ava asked. Why is he fighting me on this?

  “I don’t believe this is the proper time, Ava,” Harper said. “And no, Ron, the tapestries are fine. I am just worried about excessive wear from impromptu viewings.”

  Ron and Ava looked at each other. Worried creases formed on his forehead.

  Is Harper asserting his control over these items because he sees me as a threat, or am I just making him nervous? Should I press to see them, or let it go?

  Ron was watching her with concern.

  If Ava had been there without Ron, she might have pushed harder. But she decided to back off, in deference to Ron’s pleading eyes. “Another time then, I guess.”

  Ron hurried to open up the King’s cask before Harper said anything further. The wooden trunk featured a carving of a young King Arthur removing Excalibur from the stone. “Look at this, Falke,” he said, holding up a small box.

  The boy went to touch it, but Harper stopped him. “Only an initiate may touch the relics.”

  Ron quirked a brow at Harper, but held it out closer so Falke and Ava could see better. It was a beautiful box made of orange and white agate stone. There were carvings on it of a great dragon winding its way around all the sides and the top.

  “What’s in it?” Falke asked.

  Ron said, “It’s said there’s a cloth with King Arthur’s blood on it inside. We don’t know where it’s from or how it was obtained. It’s sealed with pine pitch, so we’ve never been able to look inside.”

  “I recall the story from Anya’s book,” Ava said. “Apparently, King Arthur cut his hand helping Mother Anya move a crate one time when he was visiting. Anya kept the bandage. Sixteen years later, when she took his son, Stephen, to the ruins of Camelot, she found this box on the floor of the king’s bedroom.”

  Ron shook his head slowly. “I’ve never heard that before.”

  “There’s no mention of the pine pitch in the book,” Ava said.

  “It was only about fifty years ago we realized Anya kept the bandage so that when it is time, someone can run a DNA scan on it, proving Ron is the heir of Arthur,” Harper said.

  “Remarkable,” Ava said.

  Ron placed the box up on a nearby ledge. He took out the king’s ring—a large gold band with dragons entwined all around it, topped with a rough-cut ruby—and showed it to Falke and Ava before putting it on. Then he put on a heavy gold chain.

  Harper saw Ava studying the necklace. “I’ve speculated that was a Saxon gift to Arthur, as it’s so out of character with the other pieces.”

  “Hm,” she said.

  Harper stepped forward and removed a crown from its box. It was a beautiful golden circlet in a vine pattern. Golden leaves stood upright, looking more like flames. Each leaf had a different jewel: rubies, aquamarines, amethyst, cat’s eye.

  “I read in the Book of Merlin and Arthur that Merlin had craftsmen create a new crown for Arthur when he became king, saying that Uther’s wasn’t right for the new way Arthur would rule.”

  “I’m always amazed at how beautiful it is,” Harper said.

  Ron bent his head down, and Harper set it on his brow. Ron’s eyes took on a sort of deep glow when the crown was placed on his head. They looked exactly the same as they had last night in
bed.

  Ron turned and smiled at Ava. His aura was a fierce red-orange with a tinge of yellow, increasing the impression that he was standing in flame. Ava’s heart leapt with joy, and she felt that duality, being both Ava and Anya.

  He thrilled them both.

  Harper removed the red velvet drape, then stepped back so they could see a beautifully made instrument of hawthorn with inlays of different colored woods and mother-of-pearl, creating a Tree of Life design. “This was Merlin’s harp. It’s rather large for its type, and I’ve always wondered what it sounded like.”

  “Why are the strings cut?” Falke asked. Ragged remains of animal gut strings hung on the beautiful hawthorn frame.

  “Mother Anya wrote that when she found out Merlin had been killed, she cut the strings,” Ava said.

  “It’s a good thing she did, too,” Harper said. “Now we know that keeping it strung would have destroyed it. The tension of the strings kills harps.”

  “Brilliant,” Falke said. “I’d love to re-string it and play it!”

  Harper said with some pride, “Falke’s an accomplished musician. He’s performed classical music in public on his twelve-string guitar. But I dare say he could make a harp like this sing!”

  “I don’t think it would be possible to play that old relic, Falke,” Ron said. “But maybe we can make a replica of it.”

  “That would be ace,” the boy said with a smile.

  Harper stepped up to Merlin’s chest, which featured a carving of the wizard in a crystal cave. As Harper opened it, he pointed to a corner which held a box. “Here are the original editions of the Book of Merlin and Arthur, and Anya’s book. They’re parchment scrolls.”

  Harper turned to the next box. “Falke, I know you don’t like ‘oogy stuff,’ so prepare yourself.”

  Ava felt Falke’s emotions. The report she had on him stated that he was a very sensitive boy with rather strong emotional responses in the presence of morbid things that would interest other boys his age. She could tell Falke was caught between not wanting to look like a baby in front of them and being genuinely worried about whatever his father had.

  “What is it?” Falke asked cautiously.

  Harper brought out a polished oak box. It was two feet square and had latches at the bottom.

  “What an interesting crate,” Ava said.

  “My great-grandfather made it in the nineteenth century.” To Falke he said, “This is Merlin’s skull.”

  “S-s-s-skull?” Falke said.

  “The Elder’s skull?” A strange sensation between joy and terrible sorrow gripped Ava. It felt almost like a panic attack, but there was a spike of happiness that kept the fear back. Covering her surge of emotion, she said, “I read that Mother Anya took it when she initiated Falcon, but I had no idea it still existed.”

  Harper looked at her curiously; he seemed to be picking up on her tumultuous emotional state. Then he unsnapped the latches and carefully removed the box. There, on a piece of red velvet, sat an ancient skull. The bone was a dark mahogany color, and mystical symbols were inscribed all over it. “Behold Merlin,” Harper said in a booming voice that was obviously part of their ritual.

  Without thinking, Ava’s hand stretched out toward the skull, but she didn’t touch it. She was close to tears, and felt an intense sorrow mixed with longing. There was suddenly a sharp smell in the air, like a liniment an older person would use for aching bones. Ava felt rough beard hair beneath her fingertips, as if she was touching the man who once inhabited that skull. Merlin, my darling! She bit her tongue so she didn’t sob out loud. But Merlin was dead—so very long ago. And according to the Goddess, the man holding the skull was himself the reincarnation of that man. She shivered, abruptly cold and sweaty with the intense feelings she was experiencing.

  Falke struggled to speak. “Why is the bone so dark?”

  Ava cleared her throat and struggled to get her emotions under control. “He was stuffed into an oak tree. Then it was set on fire. It was a ritual killing for breaking the sacrament of Avalon. Merlin and Mother Anya stole the Goddess Chalice—now known as the Holy Grail.”

  “They burned him to death?” Falke asked, looking pale.

  Harper said, “They didn’t so much burn him up as smoke him to death.” He looked concerned about the boy’s reaction. “It was a big tree stump.”

  “Oh,” Falke said faintly.

  Harper set the skull on its niche in the wall. Then he took out the Merlin ring, a bronze band with two oak trees on either side of a large piece of amethyst, and showed it to them before putting it on. Next, he removed a wooden necklace.

  “How many beads are there?” Ava asked. Is it really the original necklace?

  “Thirty-three carved wooden beads,” Harper said. “And the large piece is an even older piece of oak.” The pendant was a little over a foot long and six inches wide. Upon it was carved the Tree of Life.

  The Sisterhood believed it was the most ancient item of Celtic worship extant. Ava knew several experts who would give their teeth to be in the same room with the fabled Merlin necklace.

  Harper saw Ava’s attention riveted on the beads, and he pivoted slightly, placing himself more firmly between her and the artifact.

  Ron took it from Harper, placed the necklace around the older man’s neck, and smiled a little once it was in place. Harper’s gray eyes became a little darker and more serious. Suddenly, his aura flared a brilliant blue-violet-white, and Ava knew it was Merlin.

  “We look a bit odd in modern clothes and ancient things,” Harper said, as his eyes returned to their regular color.

  “We do,” Ron said with a small laugh. “Usually,” he explained to Falke, “we wear fancy robes.”

  Ron reached up and took the lower of the two items that were hung on the back wall and handed it to Harper. The heir of Merlin removed the black cloth wrapping, revealing a carved oak staff about six feet long. The runes on it were entirely unfamiliar to Ava. There was a bronze band of several inches width about half-way up the staff.

  “Merlin’s staff!” Ava exclaimed. “It was broken in half by Morgaine after she killed him. Then it was taken back to Mother Anya by a servant of Avalon. Anya later had a smithy put it back together with a band of bronze.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Harper said, looking at the staff as if seeing it for the first time. “I need to finish reading Anya’s book.”

  “Yes, you do,” Ava said, trying to keep the sharpness of her retort to a minimum. So much would have gone smoother if these men had simply read the book they should have.

  Ron brought down the other item off the wall. Harper leaned the staff against his shoulder and put out his arms so Ron could rest the long, heavy object on them. Ron removed it from the black shroud and revealed a sword that was a little over three feet long in an ancient, red leather scabbard.

  “Excalibur!” breathed Falke.

  “Is that the original scabbard?” Ava asked.

  “It is,” Ron said. He held it up so Ava could see the beautiful golden dragons worked into the leather the whole length of it.

  “I believe Merlin enchanted both the scabbard and the sword itself. That’s why it doesn’t seem to age,” Harper said.

  “Look at the spells all over it!” Ava said.

  “What do you mean?” Ron asked, looking slightly worried.

  “Spells?” Harper said, puzzled. “Oh! I read that in Anya’s book last night. Goddess, look at them all! I’ve seen the sword dozens of times, and never knew there were spells inscribed on the scabbard until I read Anya’s tale!”

  “What spells?” Ron said impatiently.

  Ava pointed out the sigals and other designs in gold thread. “Each one of these represents a different spell to strengthen King Arthur and protect him. This box here―that’s to stop blood loss. This one here is to prevent cuts. I’m not sure what all the symbols mean. Then Merlin wove other magic over it—one of which is a very powerful spell to nullify poison.” Ancient power radiated f
rom the sword and scabbard, and Ava could feel the interface along her aura.

  Ron breathed out a sort of half-laugh. “With you here, it’s like seeing these things for the first time.”

  “May I see the pommel?” she asked.

  Ron turned it around.

  “I guess I’ve read too much fiction about Excalibur. I was expecting it to have a big fancy hilt with a large guard,” Ava admitted.

  Ron grinned. “You’re thinking of the sort of thing you find on Medieval and Renaissance swords, when they were more for show. Excalibur was made for battle.”

  Falke stood close to Ava as Ron pointed out the intricate craftsmanship of the great sword. The guard was made of layers of bronze, ebony, and ivory. It embraced the blade—which broadened near the handle—in almost a V shape created by two dragons entwined and facing in opposite directions. It was barely larger than the width of the blade. The grip was walrus ivory with an inlaid dragon on both sides, made of red gold. “It would likely have been wrapped in leather strips for better handling in battle,” Ron pointed out. On the pommel was a bronze dragon head, intricately created. The eyes of the dragon were rubies. There was a large ruby at the top, or “button,” as Ron explained.

  “Wow!” Falke said. “It’s so beautiful! Is the blade as intricate?”

  “It’s got the most amazing pattern welding on it,” Ron said, slipping the scabbard off and handed it to Harper. “See the—”

  Before Ron could describe the intricately-designed, double-edged blade to them, a bright light filled the Sacred Grotto, and a woman’s voice said loudly in ancient Brittonic:

  The time is at hand! Hide from the light no longer. Use these relics to reveal thy true nature. Go forth and take thy places as foretold!

  Long live King Arthur!

  Long live Lord Merlin!

  Long live Priestess Anya!

  Ava hadn’t expected to hear that voice in the Grotto, during the preliminary visit. Her whole soul leapt with joy at the words. But then her knees utterly failed her, and she sank to the floor, overcome. Tears flow down her face.

  Thank you, Goddess!

  Ron helped Ava back up, then held her in his left arm. She glanced down at his right hand, still clutching the long sword that pulsed with power. Yes, this is where I belong, in his strong arms. My love, my Arthur-Ron.