Mordred, Bastard Son

by Douglas Clegg

  We rested a bit, a delicate calm upon us.

  Then he spoke again. “When I go, I promise I’ll come back. Someday.”

  “If you leave, we will never see each other again.”

  “No,” he said. “Don’t ever believe that, Mordred. I will always find you. I will always come home to you. If we could see our past life, I bet you were my father. Or my lover. Or my sister. Or I was your daughter. We, too, are somehow bound. Do you not feel it?”

  “I imagined it,” I said. “But did not know if it was true.”

  “What we imagine may be true,” he said. “I thought I imagined love, but it is true. I know it. Do you know love? Really know it?”

  I could say nothing in response, though I felt love in my heart for Lukat himself, and love for Melisse, whom I had just begun getting to know through his love for her.

  “If you ever find it, Mordred—love—the love that comes from the gods,” he whispered, clinging to me as if I were Melisse and he spoke to her through me, “if you ever find it, it is worth going to the Otherworld to bring it back. Be afraid of nothing. Be afraid of no one. If you have the love that is the two-souls-in-one, you have nothing to fear in all of your lives.” He must have known that I was sobbing against him. All the loneliness of my childhood had come up from a deep well, all those moments when my mother had looked at me as if she had recognized my father in my face; or when I could not play with friends for fear that I would reach over and kiss Lukat and embarrass him and me; or that I could not even talk to someone about my feelings and thoughts, lest they be mocked, or worse, taken gravely seriously by even Merlin that it indicated an unsteady and wavering mind when I was too young to even know my way.

  Lukat closed his eyes. “I need to rest. I will see Melisse in my dreams. I will ask her into what new life she goes that I may find her.”

  And so I held him as he slept. He was my child and my brother and the best friend I had ever known. While he slept, I hummed the soft song of summer winds that was taught to us by Viviane. It was the song of the Lady Nimue who had sacrificed herself to the Lady of the Lake many centuries before so that she could travel to the underworld kingdom of Arawn and beg for mercy for the tribes, for the Romans then slaughtered one and all and the spirits did not come back to the flesh for new life as many women had gone barren. And the Lady of the Lake, seeing her great sacrifice, rescued Lady Nimue’s spirit from Arawn, who had fallen in love with the priestess. The nameless Lady released Nimue’s spirit as wind-on-water, that Nimue might guide the boats of the tribe to safety when their enemies came for them or bring storms down upon the invaders.

  Later that night, when all was quiet, I rose from our bed and went out to the steps to climb up to sit in the moonlight. The fires of the Eponi were lit, and I went to sit with some of the men and women who would remain up all night, praying for young Melisse’s safe passage between worlds.

  In my head, I began writing a song to her, stealing much of it from the Nimue tune, but enough was new that it was wholly mine. It was for Melisse and Lukat and I do not remember much of it, but it began what would be a lifelong love of writing and poetry. It would be days before I’d find a parchment and begin to write upon it, my own words, my own thoughts, but that night, by the fire of the Eponi, watching the flames and thinking of Lukat and his beloved, I sang a song in my head for them, for it was my own prayer. It was to their love and to my friendship with them, and even the white boar of Moccus, who had brought death and sorrow to us.

  4

  The funerary rites for Melisse were held in those days after the priestesses and the Druids had purified the body and spirit of the departed. Far from a solemn occasion, it was an awakening.

  The minstrels, who came from among the artisans, played the old songs of the gods and of the early heroes of Troy and of Rome and of the southern mountains and of North-Galis and the Wastelands. Maidens of Melisse’s age or younger danced in the stylized slow movements that reminded me of my studies of the Greek Mystery dances of which I’d read so much. The Eponi, who were Melisse’s tribe, raced their horses in the darkening fields lit by torches, and Melisse’s own horse was honored with garlands of wildflowers and scented evergreen branches. Along the lake, all who had known Melisse told stories of her, and then, one by one, we youths stripped off our clothes and dove into the lake, swimming toward its center. When we reached that point, we were to dive down deep to see if one could touch the Cauldron of Rebirth, which was the Womb of the Lady, and covered the entrance to the Otherworld. If one could touch it, he would rise up and be praised and covered with flowers and given the best portion of the roasted pigs for he had sent the prayer to both Arawn and the Lady for Melisse’s swift return into a new life with her tribe, there at the Isle of Glass, before her soul might move away.

  I swam with the other boys, having told Lukat that I swam for him since he could not. All the years of swimming the lake and the rivers above had made me strong and ready for this. Other youths, older and younger, did not travel so far into the lake, or so fast as I did. And when I reached the center point, marked in the rock ceiling above by the beginning of the chasm doorway to the sky, I took a deep breath and dove down, kicking my legs like a frog behind me that I might push further into the depths of the water. The heat was greatest at the lake’s center, and was nearly too hot as I went further down, but I bore it, thinking of Lukat and Melisse.

  I had to come up, for I did not find the lip of the Cauldron. I glanced about—two other boys, one a year older and one three years younger had joined me, though others still swam from the shore toward us. They, too, dived down, as I caught my breath. And I went again, below the surface, and as I did, pushing myself deeper and deeper, into that silent darkness, I saw an eerie yellow-green light, as if the Lady’s Lamp, that glowing residue of the hot springs, was smudged beneath me. I followed the light down, and nearly had reached it when I felt my hand burning hot as I pressed it forward.

  And there, at the edge of the light, I saw the gold and bronze of the rim of a large bowl or cup.

  I reached forward, though my fingers blistered in the blast of heat around it.

  I touched the edge of the Cauldron of Rebirth.

  My skin felt as if it were on fire, and I swiftly drew my hand back and allowed my body to float upward, kicking as much as I could, hoping to break the surface at any moment, but as I went, I was sure that I would drown, for my face did not emerge above the water.

  I took water into my lungs, but finally broke through that surface and spat the water from me, coughing. The other youths around me, took me up upon their shoulders and backs, swimming with me toward the shore’s celebrations, and when I had recovered my strength within the hour, I should my hand, which had turned red from heat, and the finger with its small blisters from where I had touched the Cauldron of Rebirth so that Melisse could return to the Eponi in her next life.

  That night, a great dance was held, and her father and mother got drunk on honey-ale, and even I drank too much wine, which dulled the throbbing pain of my hand. As I was the one who had brought the Cauldron’s blessing to the departing soul, I had to dance with every maiden who would come to me, and every youth, for it was known now of my nature, and though the youths danced as close to me as the maidens, none interested me, and I did not detect one among them who had a love for men as I did. Lukat danced with me twice, though he grew dizzy and had to rest, for he had not yet fully recovered from his own fall or from the shock of her death.

  The revels went on into the early dawn, and we made quite a din and the songs to Arawn and to the Lady and to Cernunnos and to all the gods known and unknown continued until the sun began to rise over the caverns.

  I raised my cup to her before the Druids took her body for their sacred rite in the Grove at sunrise, from which the rest of us were barred.

  After the Druids had passed her body to the arms of the goddess, Lukat collapsed again and took to his bed just at the first snowfall.

  5 />
  A month went by, and the worst of winter came upon us, so I did not leave the warmth of the lake or the bedside of my friend. He grew stronger, and I grew sadder, knowing he would leave when he had regained all his health. I brought Viviane to him that she might bless him and speak on his behalf to Cernunnos and Arawn, as well as to Sulis and Diana, and the gods of the four corners, and the elemental spirits of the rock and wood.

  Then I went down to the lake and shed my winter clothing and stepped into the steamy waters that felt so loving to me in the midst of that season of frost.

  6

  I swam the length of the lake. Each time I grew tired, as muscles in my shoulders and stomach seemed to want to rest and even drown, I asked the Lady for strength and then continued onward. I looked down into the luminous darkness of its bottom, and saw the yellow-and-red spires of that underwater kingdom, thinking of its depths that went well below the level of our cavern, and of the legend that this was from the baths of Arawn himself, broken open by the Lady so as to escape the Lord of the Dead who had held her prisoner. When I reached the round pools that came off the lake, out where the ancient paintings were upon the cave wall, I rose up. Naked, I shook off that last of the water and sat shivering, looking at the art upon the rough-hewn rock.

  The art of our tribe was magickal, and it showed the hunting of the Carnac Bulls, each of which granted a blessing and a power to our ancestors. I saw the sacrifices of the elders, which occurred only once in our long history, when those who had lived long voluntarily gave up their lives for their children and grandchildren that they might have long life in a winter of extreme hardship. When those people had sacrificed their elders, they turned next to their children, the grandchildren of those who had died, and were nearly going to kill themselves that their blood might sustain their children through the dark nights. And it was then that the white ravens came from the thickets, in such great numbers, and the wild pigs were found at the lip of the caverns that our ancestors might eat and find shelter.

  There, on that painting, was an image of the Lady of the Lake.

  I had seen it many times as a child, but had not come to this place in several years.

  She wore a blue-green robe, though it might have been the lake itself, surrounding her in a rippling halo. Her nakedness was not covered beyond the robe that flowed down her shoulders and back. Her hair was a burnt red, nearly black, like my mother and aunt’s and many of our women’s hair. It curled and undulated like a crooked stream.

  Her breasts were not overly large, but a crescent moon had been painted upon one where a nipple would be, and a star or small sun was at the other. Her legs were long and she stood upon two large fish, as if they were twin horses for her ride.

  Her left hand was placed across her belly, which was small and rounded. There, held by her hand and across her belly down to her pubis, the great Cauldron of Rebirth, represented simply by a circle and the face of Arawn himself within it.

  I looked at my left hand, still healing from the blisters brought from the touch of the Cauldron.

  I thought: I have touched her womb, the place of rebirth. This is the sign that the Lady has blessed me.

  In the painting, her right arm raised up to her shoulder, her hand drawn as if inviting the viewer of this art in to her domain.

  Above her, the sacred white ravens and the gray doves that were her heralds.

  “Our Lady,” I whispered. “Do not forsake my friend.”

  I closed my eyes, for though we had paintings and statues of our goddesses and our gods, we were not meant to worship stone or chalk. “The picture is so that you will not be frightened of her,” Viviane once told me. “For the countenance of the goddess to the uninitiated may be full of terror or awe. She wishes for us to see her as we see ourselves. But when we pray or ask for blessings, we must go into ourselves to find her. For that is where she hears us. You must not ask for yourself, but for others, that they may prosper and might also ask the goddess for blessings upon you.”

  Lady, whose name is unknown to us but who has loved our people and saved us our enemies, please be with my friend Lukat. Bring him comfort in this time of grief. Bring him the joy of your gardens and of your healing waters. Forgive me for my desires for him, for they were the desires of a child. I will become a man. You have opened my eyes to what life is, through the love I have for him. I will seek that love in one who will return it, but I would like to ask that if I need to be cursed in this life, so long as it makes Lukat, my friend, and Morgan, my mother, heal and forget their pain, I will happily be cursed. Let me take on their torments and their sorrow, for I can bear them on their behalf, but I cannot bear to watch Lukat suffer more, nor my mother reach to the darkness to ease her pain.

  You are the beautiful and the merciful. You heal and you bring life. I pray that you will speak to Arawn that he might trade my life for Melisse’s, so that she might return into the flesh and be known to my friend that he will find joy again and peace. You brought the Cauldron of Rebirth up from the Otherworld, and hold it within your womb. I beg of you to bring Melisse into its holy circle and raise her again to life.

  I opened my eyes, half-hoping that I would have a vision or a sight of the Lady, as some claimed to have during the solstices.

  But all I saw was that drawing, with the faceless and nameless goddess upon her fish-mounts, her hand beckoning to me, the eternal circle of the Cauldron upon her form.

  I wanted more than this, more than the lake. I wanted to be able to find love as Lukat had, with a mate, with someone with whom I could bind and handfast.

  I wanted Lukat, and if not him, then someone who was everything a man could be. I did not want to settle for the men of the Lake anymore.

  There were others in the world, others who would understand me.

  Men who would love me as I could love them, and I only wanted one, I only wanted a mate as anyone on Earth would want.

  I sat there and prayed that Lukat might one day love me, for I could not imagine that I would find a friend like him again.

  Someone to whom I could offer body and spirit, even if it meant asking nothing in return.

  I had worshipped the goddess too long, I thought, as I sat there.

  The Lord of the Forest, Cernunnos, called Cerne by some, with his great antlers, riding the white stag—he was the one to whom men prayed.

  He brought lust and love to men, and as I saw that soft Lady with her beauty and gifts, I knew that I would need to turn to the god of men to find a man who was like a god. I was done with the boyhood dreams of one who did not demand of the world what he wanted.

  Done with waiting and praying and hoping and watching, as if I were a flower in a field waiting to be picked or trod upon.

  I hungered for that burning of the flesh that I had denied within myself.

  For that moment, of looking at the ancient paintings on the walls, was the last true time of innocence for me, the last second of childhood, gone, as if it had never existed. I loved Lukat; I could not deny it. I was hurt for him, too, and felt pain, but I did not wish Melisse back. I did not wish for Lukat’s happiness. I wished for my own, and my pain was for my own grief at knowing that however close I got to him, he would always abandon me to a maiden, whether Melisse or some other that he might meet. I had given him all my love, and though he professed to give me his, he would not take that step toward me, that animal step that I desired. I hated myself as I sat there, and then I exalted myself, for I did not truly believe that Lukat did not want me. I did not, in the deepest well of my soul, believe that he loved any more than he loved me.

  I had lost that innocence as I contemplated the Lady and the Lord.

  And in its place was something dark and wild, something that had not been tamed by any goddess.

  I was nearly a man, and I would do all things that men do.

  I wanted love for myself. I wanted a man who loved me, and wanted me, and would come to me naked and willing and happy and with excitement in both his g
aze and his flesh.

  I wanted to be a hunter of men.

  I turned to the painting of Cernunnos, a look of calm upon his face, his great antlers twisting like ancient branches of forest, his enormous penis erect, one arm upward to the heavens, the other downward to the earth beneath his feet.

  Lord of the Forest. Lord of men. Lord of the rutting and the mating. Lord of the hunter and of the hunted.

  Hear my prayer that I might now become a man.

  I dreamed that night of the deep emerald forest, and of a great bow studded with dark-red jewels in my hand. I was naked but for a cloth wrapped around my waist that hung down and tied between my legs as the hunters of old wore them, and there in a clearing I saw the great stag of Cernunnos. Five times the size of any deer, the stag was magnificent, its antlers were as tall as the trees themselves and twisted and branched like the ancient oaks.

  I brought an arrow to my bow and aimed for the stag’s throat when it sensed me. Rather than running from me, the stag nodded its head as if acknowledging my presence, and began to take steps toward me.

  I lowered my bow and dropped the arrow to the fern-covered earth.

  And when the stag had come close to me, I saw it more clearly. It was a man wearing the skin of a stag upon him, the headdress of antlers worn in those ceremonies of the Lord of the Forest and of the Hunt.

  He looked at me with eyes that were like the game-stones of the Druids—polished and shiny black.

  And in that dream, I wrestled with the stag until we both lay upon the earth, the fresh, damp earth, and as I lay atop him, the dream faded into dawn.

  I awoke to hear the sounding of the horn at the arrival of a messenger from the kingdoms of Britain.

  7

  That night, the council of elders called a meeting around the great fire in the clearing above the caverns. The messenger had brought news of King Hoel on the coast and of the sea-nation king, Tristan of Lyonesse, whose fleet had defeated Saxon invaders along the islands for the glory of Arthur.