The Midsummer Wife

by Jacqueline Church Simonds

  Falke stood in the middle of the floor, pale and shaking. “Holy crap! What was that?”

  Harper patted his shoulder. “That was either the voice of the Goddess or Anya. I’m still not sure. We’ve only heard the voice one other time, when Ron was initiated. That’s when we knew he was the heir to Arthur.”

  “Didn’t the voice say anything when you were initiated?” he asked.

  “No. I expect it would have given things away. Besides, Arthur’s heir is the one who’s most important,” Harper said.

  “Arthur doesn’t exist without Merlin’s help,” Ron corrected Harper.

  “But what did the voice say?” Falke asked.

  Harper translated. “So, it appears we’re to box all this stuff up and proceed with the next step in the Goddess’ plan.”

  “And we wouldn’t have heard this if Ava hadn’t asked us to take her to the Grotto,” Ron said.

  “You represent Priestess Anya,” Falke said in a worshipful voice.

  Ava felt the shadow of a memory of a dream in which she heard Anya’s son, Falcon, say: “Mother, you possess a shard of the Goddess!” Shivering, she put the thought aside. It was just too odd to think of Falke being her son in a previous life.

  Ava stepped out of Ron’s embrace and wiped her eyes. “I’ve heard that voice before. It was the Goddess.”

  Thoughtfully, Ron slid the sword back in its sheath and put it on top of the bench.

  Ava took out a necklace from one of her larger pockets and laid it out in her hand for the men to look at. It was made of intertwined gold and silver chains nearly two feet long, and delicately wrought. Every few inches were fragile white flowers, made of river pearls.

  “It’s beautiful.” Harper said.

  Ava felt from him the most poignant longing and sadness. Did Harper feel the echo of Merlin’s love for Anya?

  “I thought you said the Grotto doesn’t like foreign metal objects, Dad?” Falke said.

  “It’s not ‘foreign,’” Ava corrected him. “Merlin had it made for Anya after she bore Falcon. It’s one of the few items Arianrhod took away from Drunemeton when she left, and it has been a cherished object among the Sisterhood for all these years. So you see, Falke, it belongs here every bit as much as Merlin’s ring or the king’s sword.”

  Ron took it from Ava and placed it around her neck. Very clearly, she heard his thought:

  I will love thee unto the end of time.

  Ava said to his mind: And I, thou, beloved.

  Faintly, Ava heard Harper as he watched them: Yes, she is for him, not for me.

  Ron kissed her, and there was that amazing electrical connection between them again. But now Ava knew why it was so intense. He was my lover in the last life, and now we’ll be together again.

  When their kiss ended, they were alone in the Grotto. Harper and Falke were farther down the tunnel, carrying some of the smaller items to the ladder.

  Ron looked around, somewhat dismayed. “I guess the rule about not removing items from the Grotto is moot.”

  Ava caressed his cheek. “We’re going to fulfill Anya’s plan. When these sacred relics are brought into the light, Britain will know you as its new king.”

  He kissed her fingers. “What’s a king without a queen?” he asked, smiling. He led her out of the Grotto, and over to his things. Picking up a small box, he went down on one knee. “Ava, we’ve just met, but I know this is the right thing to do. Will you marry me?” He opened the box to reveal the most exquisite diamond and emerald ring in an old-fashioned setting on a platinum band. “This has been the Steadbye engagement ring for five generations. Say you’ll wear it?”

  It was one thing to feel the way she did and to have the Goddess say Ron came back for her in this life, but Ava still had responsibilities to the Sisterhood. What would marrying Ron do to her position? And what would the Sisterhood say when they heard him propose?

  Chapter Thirteen

  No matter what the Sisterhood thought. No matter what the implications were, there was really only one answer.

  “Yes,” Ava whispered.

  He slipped the beautiful heirloom ring on her finger, then got up and kissed her again. They were interrupted by clapping and whistling from Harper and Falke.

  Ava felt herself blush—something she hadn’t done since a child. “Um, thank you.”

  Harper bowed, followed by Falke. Harper said, “We, your loyal vassals, will serve you until we die, Queen Ava.”

  “So I pledge also,” Falke said.

  “Thank you. A bit soon for that yet, though,” she said.

  Ron kissed her temple.

  Harper grinned. “Perhaps. First we have to haul this stuff up that ladder!”

  They made many trips up and down the ladder bringing the delicate regalia upstairs. Moving the tapestries was the most physical task—made somewhat more irritating since she hadn’t been allowed to view them. The smaller one wasn’t too difficult to handle, but the big one was a beast to shove up the steep ladder. It took both Ron and Harper pushing as hard as they could from below and Falke and Ava tugging from above. She was so terrified the big arras would tear, she had a mild—by her standards—panic attack. Her heart was hammering, and she was puffing, sweating, and shaking.

  When they finally hauled it up and laid the large cloth next to the smaller one on a tarp at the base of the secret back stairs, Ron patted Ava on her damp back. “I thought you were the outdoorsy sort and in shape?” he said with a laugh.

  “It’s been a while since I worked out this hard,” she lied.

  They made one last trip down to make sure they had gotten everything. Harper reached into the Merlin chest and pulled out a small wooden box. “I don’t recall this. It must have been under the parchments.” He opened it and gasped. “Is that…?”

  Ava looked inside. There was a crude necklace made of a leather thong, on which was a large scallop shell. It was the most beautiful pearl-blue at the edge, shading down to an indigo at the base. “Oh, Goddess! It’s Anya’s shell necklace!” Ava felt such a connection when she touched it.

  “That was Anya’s?” Ron whispered.

  Ava nodded. “Mother Anya was rescued from a Saxon raiders’ ship by King Arthur, Merlin, and the Knights of the Round Table—also saving Wyke Regis, today’s Weymouth—because she sent a vision to Merlin. The people of the town were grateful. Villagers gave her clothing, but a young boy slipped this shell into her hand—possibly his only possession. She was taken to Avalon, and that’s where she made a necklace out of it.”

  “We had a piece from Anya all the time and never knew it,” Ron said. “For some reason, I think we’ve been missing something important about our heritage because of that.”

  “And not reading Anya’s book,” Ava said.

  The men laughed. Ron said, “I promise, I’ll read Anya’s tale as soon as possible!”

  Harper and Ron blew out the candles as they left the Grotto. Then Harper cast the spell that made the doors look like a rock wall again.

  “Why bother, Dad?” Falke asked. “There’s nothing in there anymore.”

  “Habit. Tradition. It just feels wrong to leave it exposed,” Harper said with a shrug.

  They went back up the ladder. Gathering the small items, Ron, Falke, and Ava followed Harper back up the steps and along the corridor. But instead of going up the stairs to the house, Harper led them further down the corridor. When they reached another dead-end, Harper removed a slender key from his silver necklace. Saying a few words, a keyhole appeared about three feet above the scuffed floor. When he inserted and turned the key, an ancient door of worn yew appeared and swung open with a creak on leather hinges.

  “This is the secret office,” Harper explained as they filed in.

  Where the house’s official office was about aristocratic living, money, and order, the stuffy little room was filled with a jumble of personal mementos from Merlin’s line—all sixty of them. There was only one small window, and it looked out onto a wall. The
room smelled of lamp oil, damp, ancient books, and mysteries older still.

  “I presume this used to be Merlin’s actual study when the original house stood?” With her doubled vision, Ava saw it as Mother Anya lived it, when the window looked out upon Glastonbury Tor. But the clutter had a familiar feel. Merlin was something of a packrat, too!

  “I believe so,” Harper said. He fidgeted around the room, clearly unsettled. Ava understood: All these things so long secret, and now the office was full of people where only two to four had ever even known of its existence. “Usually, after a trip to the Grotto, we come in here and have ourselves a nice glass of brandy. Goddess knows. I could use one about now. Would you like a tot, Ava?”

  “Yes, that would be lovely.”

  “I’ll have a double, please,” Ron said with a small laugh as he dropped into an old straight-back chair.

  Harper started to reach for the cut glass decanter on the battered breakfront beside the desk, then stopped. “You know, this auspicious occasion calls for something rather better.” He opened up the cabinet and withdrew a leather case. Unlatching it, he took out an old bottle. “Father put this away the day I was born. It’s a Glenfiddich Single Malt Speyside Scotch. It was forty years old when he bought it. Let’s see if the intervening forty-two years have been kind to it.”

  Ron sat up. “Oh, this will be a treat!”

  “May I have some?” Falke asked.

  Harper glared at him. “You’re a bit young, yet. But I suppose it’s a special occasion.”

  “Thanks,” Falke said, looking eager.

  “At least it’ll be better than that swill you were drinking with your friends behind the tool shed last year,” Harper said.

  “We didn’t! I wasn’t!” Falke turned beet red.

  Ron barked a laugh.

  Harper snorted. “Uh-huh,” he said, as he poured the golden liquid into old Waterford highball glasses.

  Ava thanked Harper, took her drink, and went to bookshelves—taller than those upstairs—while he poured for the others and himself.

  The fumes from the Scotch were powerful and aromatic. Ava took a sip and the flavors of peat, caramel, and very strong alcohol, seized her tongue and nose. She had the odd feeling the Scotch was weaving a spell inside her head and started to feel almost disembodied. She could hear the men praising the liquor, but their words sort of melted in her mind. She swallowed quickly and set the glass down on a small table cluttered with manuscripts. “Look at all these ancient books!”

  “Those in front of you are in English, French, German, Aramaic, and several other languages covering magic, alchemy, ancient knowledge, and symbols,” Harper said.

  “There must be manuscripts here that haven’t been in the public eye for generations.” The arcane texts would be very useful to the Sisterhood—and here they’ve been squirreled away in his dusty office!

  “True enough,” Harper said. He gestured to the wall of books to her left. “Those books—both fiction and non—were all written about just one subject: King Arthur.”

  It was the largest collection of Arthurian literature she had ever heard of. “Did your family have a hand in all the books here?”

  “Most of them,” he acknowledged. “That’s what the Harpers were created for―to keep the Arthurian tale alive in the mind of Britain until The Day Foretold.”

  “What are those over there about?”

  In a smaller bookcase next to the desk were slender, leather-bound tomes. “All sixty journals of the previous heirs of Merlin, from Falcon,” he pointed to the very first book which had obviously been rebound fairly recently, “to Peregrine.” The last book on the bottom shelf was bound in modern leather, but bore the look of having been much read.

  “Dear Goddess, I could spend an age in here!”

  Ron peered around. “I’ve always thought it’s like being inside Harper’s mind.”

  Harper laughed loudly, then sipped his Scotch.

  Falke looked around with an expression of distaste. “This place is really kind of old, creepy, and dirty. Why is it a secret?”

  “Well, there are various items from Merlin himself―manuscripts on the use of magic.” Harper shrugged. “And as Ava said, this was Merlin’s actual study. This, to us, is almost as sacred as the Grotto.” He sat down in an old spindle chair in front of the ancient-looking desk. “For instance, legend says this desk was built of wood from the tree used to kill the Elder.”

  “The Elder? You mean Merlin? Whoa!” Falke said, finally impressed. He stroked the dark oak.

  “This one thing, so ancient, so rooted in the lifeblood and story of our family, restores my sense of balance in the world when things go…badly,” Harper said.

  Ron rose and placed his hand on Harper’s shoulder. “Peregrine, your father, died right here, didn’t he?”

  Harper nodded. “Six years ago. The autopsy showed a massive stroke, even though he didn’t have any genetic markers for it.”

  “I am sorry,” Ava said. Harper’s deep love for his father filled the room.

  Harper closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he said, “Ron, I never told you about this, but when your father died just three years after your initiation, Father told me he was rather expecting it. He said, ‘There shouldn’t be two kings living. Gus would’ve always been behind the throne, brokering power. Uther died so Arthur could have his day. Gus died so Ron can have his.’”

  Ron looked incredibly pained, and Ava went to him. He put his arm around her waist, but said nothing.

  “When Father died,” Harper continued, “I couldn’t help think of that. Just as there couldn’t be two kings, there couldn’t be two Merlins. Father died so I could have my day.”

  Falke paled suddenly. “That…that doesn’t mean you’re going to die soon, d-does it?”

  Harper looked surprised. “I don’t know. I do know you have something to do in the days to come. I feel it very strongly. But I don’t think you’re to be the Merlin…yet.”

  Falke didn’t look mollified.

  “Do you have the books in here?” Ava asked.

  Harper swallowed hard. It was taking him a while to get used to the lack of secrecy. “Yes. Just let me fetch them.”

  Instead of getting up and going to some secret vault, he ducked under the desk. Ron went back to his chair. Harper whispered a set of words, then there was the rattle of metal, indicating he was withdrawing a key. There was a dull thock of an old lock releasing. In a moment, he reappeared holding four modern leather-bound books. He set them carefully on the desk.

  “What are those?” Falke asked.

  “These are the translations of the parchment books we brought up. Every third generation is charged with translating the original scrolls you saw in the Grotto into the current vernacular. They were originally in Latin—Anya was a very learned woman.”

  “Why do it that way?” Ava asked. “Surely reading one’s great-grandfather’s account wouldn’t be much of a stretch.”

  “True—but as you know, after a couple of hundred years, language does change. We don’t speak the same English they did just two hundred years ago, so you can imagine the differences over 1,500 years! But also the thinking was that rewriting it directly connects the heir to the words that form our bond with the past. Copying it out in long-hand cursive ensures the books are read and comprehended. I had to study for years to obtain the skills necessary to even attempt the work. It took me the better part of two years just to do the Merlin and Arthur tale.”

  “Seriously? You couldn’t just use a copier or a computer with a print-out?” Falke asked.

  “It’s against our rules. And the rules are all that hold us together, son. But also, scientists have discovered the physical act of writing strengthens our understanding of the material and our memory of it,” Harper said. “That’s why I’m having you learn the art of handwriting, Falke, even though your school no longer requires it.”

  “Oh,” Falke said. “I was wondering.”

>   Harper nodded. “Next up, ancient Latin.”

  “Yay,” the boy said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. Then he brightened a bit. “But if it’s every third generation’s job, then I won’t have to do it, right?”

  “You’ll still need to know how to read the original texts, if a question in my translation arises,” Harper said.

  Falke sighed and rolled his eyes.

  “You can start reading the Book of Merlin and Arthur tonight if you like,” Harper said.

  “Oh. Okay,” Falke said with more interest.

  Harper tapped a book with an older cover than the other three. Even upside down, Ava could read the title: The Book of Anya. “My great-grandfather, Eagle, translated this. I just haven’t had a chance to work on it yet. Now, I wish I’d started with it!” He chuckled. Harper opened the main book―the one they all knew by heart. “I recall the moment I copied the first words from this:

  ‘Come you, and hear the tale of the most remarkable men of Britain: Merlin, the Druid High Priest, and King Arthur, best of all rulers of the Land.’”

  “Gives me a shiver every time,” Ron said.

  Harper flipped to the end of the narrative. “It gave me quite a start when Ava quoted the last line from the book when I met her:

  ‘In Britain’s darkest hour, the King and Merlin shall come again and, with the Oathstone, heal the land and its people.’”

  His voice seemed to echo in the small room.

  “Hey,” Falke says, “It doesn’t say anything about Anya.”

  “No, Arianrhod’s descendants were to monitor the heirs from afar without interference,” Ava said.

  Harper looked at Ava speculatively, detecting her half-truth. Then he turned to the two other books in black leather. They were identical until he opened them. “I came down here last night to look at the lineage books after our talk yesterday afternoon. This is the Merlin genealogy.” He read: “‘Herein, the line of Merlin the Druid and Anya, a priestess of the Rus.’”