When I arrived, bathed and medicated, to complete the last part of my unjust sentence, I was surprised to see Morgan leaning against one of the pillars at the top of the stairs, her expression as sullen as the gray, frostbitten morning.
“Morgan? What are you doing here?”
She shot me an icy look. “Always so innocent, aren’t you?” She pointed toward the pail and bristle-brush sitting at her feet. “I, too, am to play scouring maid today. And I suppose I have you to thank for that. Am I right?”
I raised an eyebrow at her and dipped my brush into the bucket. “If anyone is to blame, it is you. Why did you burn the material, Morgan?”
She turned away, toying with her own brush. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Yes, you do. Why did you do it?”
She ignored my question and raised her voice in a mocking, sing-song tone. “High and mighty Guinevere, daughter of the great King Leodgrance. Are you afraid the hem of your gown may be dirtied by a little hard work? Nothing less than perfection for you, oh pristine one.”
Her sarcasm stung. I flung the brush back down into the bucket, sloshing soapy bubbles at my feet. “Do you really think me that much a fool? Have you learned nothing about me in the last three years? I have no fear of hard work—no one here does, or she would not survive.” As I advanced on Morgan, my mind briefly flashed back to my first washing lesson with Mona. “But unlike you, I would never betray my sister just to make myself look better in Argante’s eyes.”
A wicked smirk spread across Morgan’s face. “Is that so?” she asked doubtfully. “We shall see. But bear this in mind, my lady. Not everyone has had your privileged life. Some of us must do what we can to survive.”
“Survival at the cost of others is cruel,” I retorted. “Although I suppose I should expect that from you by now. Perhaps it isn’t your fault, since you had no parents to teach you respect.”
Morgan turned on me with the venom of a viper. “I had twenty priestesses as my mother and the Archdruid as my father. Avalon is my home. Not that my upbringing is any concern of yours. As for what I may or may not have done, someone had to put you in your place. I cannot help it if you finally saw your inferiority to me and cannot live with the consequences.”
With that she turned and began scrubbing in the opposite direction, the conversation closed.
As the silence became a wall between us, I could only wonder what her next move would be and how I would suffer for it. I had, after all, exposed her greatest vulnerability. If I knew one thing about Morgan, it was that she would not let such a deep insult go unpunished.
Chapter Four
Spring 495
In early spring, when I was barely fifteen, during the impossibly cold nights on which the ewes gave birth, they came for me—nine priestesses of the isle. I needn’t be told what was about to happen; I had waited four long years for this night.
As I followed behind the solemn procession to the top of the Tor, I tried to recall the tales told of the initiation of a priestess. No one who had successfully passed the tests had ever spoken of them, for they were sworn never to reveal the secrets to the uninitiated. Still, rumors followed every initiation ceremony, and before the crescent was set onto the new priestess’s brow, tales of horror and adventure floated through the House of Nine, leaving the young ones petrified yet excited at the prospect of one day bravely facing the unknown challenges.
As we passed through the entrance to the circle of stones, the other priestesses emerged from the shadows into the flickering torchlight to surround us. I knelt before Argante, who seemed this night to be more goddess than woman.
“Guinevere of Northgallis, you came to these shores a child seeking to become a servant of the ancient ones. Now, as a woman, is that still your wish?”
“It is.”
“Know then that the gods require great sacrifice of those sworn to them. Before you may give your life to the Goddess and the God, you must prove yourself worthy of such an honor.”
She stepped aside, revealing the altar stone, which was laden with symbols of earth, air, water, and fire. I knew then that, like the Druids, I would be tested by each of the elements.
“A priestess must be able to feel and manipulate the energies around her. Draw from the clouds rain which will soak the land with healing waters,” Argante commanded.
The clear night sky stretched out beyond the Tor, stars winking defiance from the heavens. To an outsider, it would seem preposterous to try to make a cloudless sky rain, but I had enough training to know nothing was impossible.
I took a deep breath, willing the roots of my being downward, and closed my eyes, drawing the power of the Tor deep into myself until the very heartbeat of the earth was within my veins. I raised my arms, and the naked branches around us shivered. Concentrating on the void before me, I turned nine times sunwise, faster and faster, willing the energy up through my feet and out of my hands. The wind increased with each turn, so that by the time I opened my eyes, the stars were obscured by thick clouds. I brought down my hands with force, and raindrops followed. In the distance, a crack of lightning was answered by the peal of thunder.
Argante nodded. With an outward sweep of her arms, she commanded the rain to cease, though the clouds remained. She led me back over to the altar stone where a brazier burned brightly in the center.
“With power comes great responsibility. I ask you now to demonstrate your trust in the gods you serve by reaching into this fire and withdrawing a coal without fear.”
I swallowed hard. We trained for many hours to be able to accomplish this task, one which signified our ability to let go of ourselves and place the needs of others before our natural inclinations. My hand shook as I reached toward the fire, but I willed myself not to feel the burning heat. Fire is only a spark fed by air. I am much more—a being of spirit above all. The heat grew more intense as I reached toward the coals, coloring my skin a deep scarlet. But instead of burning me, it traveled around my hand with comforting warmth, as if I was wearing a thick, protective glove. With a final prayer, I grasped the coal, which weighed heavy in my hand but bore no more heat than a sun-drenched rock. With a sigh of relief, I presented it to Argante, unharmed, and set it down on the altar stone.
Argante’s face remained impassive. “Your success is a sign of great fidelity, and I am pleased. As one final scrutiny, I bid you prepare the sacred brew from the fruits of the earth that will draw down the Goddess into this mortal frame, that you may swear your vows directly to her.”
Facing north, I looked down at the altar stone, on which one of the priestesses had strewn a variety of herbs. I knew some of them were not part of the sacred drink meant to induce a trance, so my ability to complete this task successfully was crucial.
My mind flickered back to the garden and my first test of herbal knowledge, where I had made a fatal mistake. What if I did something wrong and accidentally poisoned the Lady of the Lake? Would they slaughter me right here, using my blood to atone, or merely banish me from the isle to live my life in shame?
I cast aside the herbs I knew to be a trick and set to work grinding the others, separating valuable buds from deadly leaves. Water from the white spring bubbled in a small cup placed over the brazier. I added the herbs and a heady, sweet scent emerged, a clear sign I had done well.
Viviane strained the liquid and gave it to Argante. She drank, swayed a little while speaking the words of invocation, and then seemed to shrink and disappear into the force that inhabited her body.
I blinked. Her hair had transformed from gray into a lustrous auburn, and her skin was now smooth and unlined. On each side of her stood a ghost-like white horse as insubstantial as smoke, snorting puffs of fog from their nostrils and pawing at the ground, forming tiny clouds beneath their hooves. This was the goddess Rhiannon, protector of my tribe and line.
Holding their reins in one
hand, she reached out to me with the other. “I am the Great Mother, she who is at once Maiden, Mother, and Crone, mistress of the silver moon, she of a thousand names, who holds the powers of life and death at her command. Guinevere of Northgallis, do you truly wish to serve me?” The voice that issued from her lips was young, strong, and confident, not the raspy growl that had instructed me all these years. There was no doubt this was no longer the Lady of the Lake, but one far more powerful and ancient.
“I do.”
“With full understanding that the vows you are about to make are irrevocable and will forever bind you to my service, even beyond this lifetime, pledge now your life to me.”
I knelt, and the words cascaded from my lips without hesitation. “I swear to always obey the Goddess and her consort and to uphold the mysteries of Avalon with all of my being, even laying down my life for them if it is so required. I promise to perform all of my actions with love and trust in the Goddess’s guidance, as I am now her earthly representative. Above all, I pledge to love and serve the Goddess and God even through my dying breath and to respect all forms of worship that give them honor.”
The goddess stepped forward and placed a kiss on my brow, on my lips, and on my heart. Rhiannon raised my chin to face her, placing her hands on top of my head. “Receive now the blessings of the Great Mother and arise a priestess of Avalon.”
When I looked up again, a young man stood in her place. His hair was radiant like the midsummer sun, eyes as blue as the sea. In his left hand he held a spear, and on his right forearm rested a shield. I knew him immediately to be Lugh, the sun god of my mother’s people.
“You have pledged yourself to my service, daughter, and for that I commend you. Though I cannot promise you a life of joy, I can promise you one of merit. Seek my wisdom, and you shall not fail. Be blessed, child of the Votadini, and be clothed a priestess of Avalon.”
He bent down and placed his lips upon my forehead. Heat like the kiss of the sun shot through my being, and I closed my eyes to shield them from the radiant light. What seemed like an instant later, I opened them to find the sky already brightening to soft orange and pink through breaks in the clouds.
The god and goddess were gone, but I was far from alone. Surrounding me were a circle of priestesses. As the sun began to color the eastern horizon in a pale glow, my forehead, lips, and heart were anointed with rose oil, and with great ceremony, the blue robes of priestesshood were wrapped around my shoulders.
The women laid me face up on the altar stone. I welcomed its cold, solid surety after the ethereal nature of my tests and vows. Argante was still under the influence of the sacred drink, so Viviane bent over me, chanting softly in an ancient language as she set about marking my brow with the crescent tattoo. Our mark was the waxing crescent moon, a sign of ever-increasing power and growth, but as I struggled to remain motionless under the biting tips that created the shape, I wondered if that was simply wishful thinking.
I shivered with sudden cold that had nothing to do with the icy stone. Viviane sighed and put a firm hand on me, bidding me be still, but I barely noticed. I was remembering Argante’s prophecy on the day of my admittance.
“Another crown sits on her brow, one that will secure the safety and prosperity of many, but at a great cost, both to herself and to those she holds dear.”
Deep down, I knew this moment set in motion forces that would validate her words. What I could not foresee, even with the aid of the sight, was how.
Chapter Five
The new moon following my consecration brought with it a flurry of activity to Avalon’s shores. Late one night, the Druid astronomers noted something strange in the sky—a comet, unlike any seen in a generation, soared above a triune of sacred stars. The comet was bright and its tail slender and long, causing it to take on the appearance of a firedrake. It was said that the same sign appeared in the heavens when Britain was in peril before the reign of Uther Pendragon. Because of its prophetic timing, the comet had been known as the Kingmaker.
The reappearance of this celestial sign was taken very seriously, and all unnecessary activity was suspended. The Druids invaded our shores from their own sacred land in an unprecedented journey that made the elders talk of the great wonder that was sure to follow.
For the next two moons, days were spent in Avalon’s great library, consulting star charts or speaking with the elders, researching the Kingmaker’s last appearance. Our nights were a tireless pursuit of the great star. It had not reappeared since the night following its first sighting, but we all knew it would come again. So that no skill would go untapped, Argante and Merlin, the Archdruid, decreed that Druids and priestesses should work in groups or pairs to pool their knowledge to uncover its meaning. When night fell—except on the full and new moons, when each sex kept to its own mysterious ceremony—young and old alike would fan out in groups to designated sites across the isle where the lines of energy intersected and, with weary eyes, perform their craft.
And so it was on a mid-spring night not long after the equinox. The air was unseasonably warm, the land hushed in drowsy slumber. Creatures of the night sang their soothing lullaby. All across the hillside, small fires twinkled, marking the spots where priests and priestesses tried to divine the will of the gods.
My companion lay on the tall grass a few feet away from me, head resting on his intertwined fingers, dark eyes cast heavenward, while I sat next to the sacred spring, leaning heavily upon a large boulder on its bank.
I studied him with keen interest. Aggrivane was seventeen, the second son of the great King Lot who ruled the wild kingdom of Lothian far to the north in my mother’s homeland. That much Argante had told me before she sent us off into the woods. Over the past several months, I had learned much more about this tall, handsome man. Aggrivane spoke of his dreams of becoming a warrior, dreams that would have to wait to be fulfilled, out of obedience to his father. King Lot insisted he learn the path of peace before espousing a life of violence.
“He told me it would be to my benefit to calm my willful and stormy nature,” Aggrivane had explained with a smirk.
I’d seen him for the first time on the day of the Druids arrival. Our paths crossed as he labored to unload one of their boats, and he regarded me warmly with chestnut eyes fringed with thick lashes, the corner of his lips turned up in a self-conscious half-smile.
Just as they were now.
Oh no, he knows I was staring at him. I turned away, and my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. I had believed him to be asleep. Hastily, I forced my attention back to the pool and stared into its depths as if the waters could wash away my humiliation.
Amused, Aggrivane sat up, brushing back his wavy, dark brown hair. “Enjoying the view?” he asked, eyes crinkling with mirth in the way I found so attractive.
He was only teasing me, but I could not bring myself to answer. Words died soundlessly in my throat, and I did my best to shield myself from his penetrating gaze by letting my hair fall as a screen between us. I had no experience with men, so I did not know how to conduct myself in this unfamiliar situation.
“Guinevere, look at me.” He seemed remorseful, even slightly hurt I had not taken his joke as intended. “Merlin and Argante sent us here to work together—not to hide from one another. Please, let us make peace.” He reached out a hand toward me.
“I am sorry,” I stammered, my voice barely a whisper. “It is just. . . we so rarely receive men on these shores. . .”
Aggrivane nodded but said nothing, his look turning pensive.
I feared I had offended him in some way. But before I could give voice to my fears, he came over to sit by my side. His rich, dark eyes searched my face.
“You are a newly consecrated priestess, are you not?” His finger grazed the blue crescent on my brow, only recently healed. His touch was like fire that left a tingling trail in its wake. “Is it true that the comet first appeared on t
he night you took your vows?”
My eyes widened and I nodded slowly. Few people knew of that. “It is,” I replied, more warily than I would have liked. “But I did not see it.”
“Of course not.” He studied my face with a concentration he usually reserved for the stars.
The intensity of his gaze was making me uncomfortable. Warmth spread from my face to my breasts and was slowly creeping down my torso.
“Perhaps then”—his voice was soft and sweet as nectar—“the firedrake heralds some greatness for you.”
A trill of nervous laughter escaped my lips. “I fear you regard me too highly.”
“Perhaps,” he mused. “Or perhaps not.” He smiled sweetly at the thought. He returned his attention to the stars and moments passed in silence before he spoke again. “How long have you been on this isle, Guinevere?”
“I was brought here just after my eleventh birthday, about four years ago.”
“How did you come to this vocation?”
“My mother promised me to the Goddess at birth. I was brought here when I started showing signs of the sight.” Without realizing what I was doing, I moved closer to him and began to slowly trace the image of a serpentine dragon that wound its way up his dominant arm—the sign of his clan. “What about you? You said it was your father’s wish that you study with the Druids. Do you regret it?”
His eyes followed my hand as he began to gently caress it with his own. Then he let out a slow, deep breath. “No, I do not. My father is a wise man. The path of peace is the best training a warrior can have because it teaches you love and the value of life. Because of what I have learned, I will never kill for sport or pleasure, only out of duty to my king or in self-defense. There would be much less bloodshed if all soldiers were trained to follow the holy path.”
Guinevere's Tale Page 5
