Lady of Avalon (3 page)

And suddenly the shadow between the briars had become a woman, no taller than herself but incomparably stronger, who had held her, murmuring, with a tenderness her own mother had never had the energy to show, and called her by her childhood name. She must have fallen asleep at last, still cradled in the Lady’s arms. When she awoke, her body had been cleansed, the worst of her hurts become a distant ache and the memory of terror an evil dream.

“Lady-” she whispered. Years later, her studies with the Druids had enabled her to give the being who had saved her a name. But the fairy woman’s attention was fixed on Gawen.

“My Lord, I will guide you to your destiny. Wait for me at the water’s edge, and one day soon I will come for you.” She bowed again, not quite so deeply this time, and suddenly, as if she had never been there at all, was gone.

Caillean closed her eyes. The instinct which had guided her to bring Gawen to Avalon had been a good one. If the Lady of the Fairy Folk honored him, he must indeed have a purpose here. Eilan had met the Merlin once in vision. What had he promised her? Roman though he was, this boy’s father had died as a Year-King, to save the people. What did that mean? For a moment she nearly understood Eilan’s sacrifice.

A choked sound from Gawen brought her back to the present. He was white as chalk.

“Who was she? Why did she speak to me?”

Marged looked from Caillean to the boy, brows lifting, and the priestess wondered suddenly if the others had seen anything at all.

Caillean said, “She is the Lady of the Elder Folk-those who are called Faerie. She saved my life once, long ago. In these days the Elder Folk come not often among humankind, and she would not have appeared here without reason. But as for why-I do not know.”

“She bowed to me.” He swallowed, then asked in a quenched whisper, “Will you permit me to go, foster-mother?”

“Permit you? I would not dare to prevent it. You must be ready when she comes for you.”

He looked up at her, a glint in those clear grey eyes that reminded her suddenly of Eilan. “I have no choice, then. But I will not go with her unless she answers me!”

“Lady, I would never question your judgment,” said Eiluned, “but what possessed you to bring a man-child that age here?”

Caillean took a swallow of water from her hornwood beaker and set it down on the dining table with a sigh. In the six moons since the priestesses had first come to Avalon, it sometimes seemed to her that the younger woman had done nothing but question her decisions. She wondered if Eiluned deceived even herself with her show of humility. She was only thirty, but she seemed older, thin and frowning and always busy about everyone else’s affairs. Still, she was conscientious, and had become a useful deputy.

The other women, recognizing the tone, looked away and went back to their meal. The long hall at the foot of the Tor had seemed ample when the Druids built it for them at the beginning of the summer. But once word of the new House of Maidens had spread, more girls had come to them, and Caillean thought they might have to extend the hall before another summer went by.

“The Druids take boys for training at an even younger age,” she said evenly. Firelight flickered on the smooth planes of Gawen’s face, making him look momentarily older.

“Then let them take him! He does not belong here…” She glared at the boy, who glanced at Caillean for reassurance before taking another spoonful of millet and beans. Dica and Lysanda, the youngest of her maidens, giggled until Gawen grew red and looked away.

“For the present I have arranged with Cunomaglos for him to lodge with old Brannos, the bard. Will that content you?” she asked acidly.

“An excellent idea!” Eiluned nodded. “The old man is doddering. I live in fear that one night he will fall into his hearthfire or wander into the lake…”

What the other woman said was true, though it was the old man’s kindness, not his weakness, that had led Marged to choose him.

“Who
is
the child?” asked Riannon, on her other side, her red curls bouncing. “Was he not one of the foster-lings at Vernemeton? And what happened when you went back to visit? The most amazing rumors have been flying about the countryside…” She eyed her High Priestess expectantly.

“He is an orphan.” Caillean sighed. “I do not know what you may have heard, but it is true that the Lady of Vernemeton is dead. There was a rebellion. The Druid priesthood in the north have scattered, and several of the senior priestesses are dead as well. Dieda was one of them. In truth, I do not know if the Forest House will survive, and if it does not, we here will be the only ones left to guard the old wisdom and pass it on.” Had Eilan had foreknowledge of her fate, and known that only the new community on Avalon would survive?

The other priestesses sat back, eyes widening. If they assumed it was the Romans who had killed Eilan and the others, so much the better. She had no love for Bendeigid, who was now Arch-Druid, but though he might be mad, he was still one of their own.

“Dieda is dead?” Kea’s sweet voice thinned, and she grasped Riannon’s arm. “But I was to have gone to her this winter for more training. How will I teach the young ones the sacred songs? This is a heavy loss!” She sat back, tears welling in her grave grey eyes.

A great loss indeed, thought Caillean grimly, not only of Dieda’s knowledge and skill, but of the priestess she might have been if she had not chosen hatred over love. That was a lesson to her also, and one she should remember when bitterness threatened to overwhelm her.

“I will train you…” she said quietly. “I never studied the secrets of the bards of Eriu, but the holy songs and sacred offices of the Druid priestesses came from Vernemeton, and I know all of them well.”

“Oh! I did not mean-” Kea broke off, blushing furiously. “I know you sing, and play the harp as well. Play for us now, Caillean. It seems so long since you have made music for us around the fire!”

“It is a
creuth,
not a harp-” Caillean began automatically. Then she sighed. “Not tonight, my child. I am too weary. It is you who should sing for us, and ease our sorrow.”

She forced a smile and saw Kea brighten. The younger priestess had not the inspired skill of Dieda, but her voice, though light, was sweet and true, and she loved the old songs.

Riannon patted her friend’s shoulder. “Tonight we will all sing for the Goddess, and She will comfort us. At least you have come back to us.” She turned to Caillean. “We were afraid you would not return in time for the full moon.”

“Surely I have trained you better than that!” exclaimed Caillean. “You do not need me to do the ritual.”

“Perhaps not.” Riannon grinned. “But without you it would not be the same.”

When they left the hall it was full dark, and cold, but the wind that had come up with nightfall had swept the mists away. Behind the black bulk of the Tor, the night sky blazed with stars. Caillean glanced eastward, and noticed the heavens growing luminous with the rising of the moon, though it was still invisible behind the hill.

“Let us make haste,” she told the others, fastening her warm mantle securely. “Already our Lady seeks the skies.” She started up the path, and the others fell into place behind her, their breath making little puffs of white in the chill air.

Only when she reached the first turning did she look back. The door to the hall was still open, and she could see Gawen’s dark shape against the lamplight. Even in silhouette, there was a wrenching loneliness in the way he stood, watching the women leave him. For a moment Caillean wanted to call out and bid him to join them. But that would have scandalized Eiluned indeed. At least he was here, on the holy isle. Then the door closed and the boy disappeared. Caillean took a deep breath and set herself to climb the rest of the way up the hill.

She had been gone for a moon, and was out of condition for such exertions. When she reached the top she stood panting while the others joined her, resisting the impulse to hold on to one of the standing stones. Gradually her head ceased to spin, and she took her place by the altar stone. One by one priestesses entered the circle, moving sunwise around the altar. The little mirrors of polished silver that hung from their belts glinted as they settled into place. Kea set the silver basin upon the stone, and Beryan, who had just taken her vows at Midsummer, filled it with water from the sacred well.

There was no need here to cast a circle. The place was already sacred, not to be looked upon by uninitiated eyes, but as the circle of women was completed, the air within it seemed to become heavier, and utterly still. Even the wind that had made her shiver was gone.

“We hail the glorious heavens, blazing with light.” Caillean lifted her hands, and the others followed. “We hail the holy earth from which we were sprung.” She bent and touched the frosty grass. “Guardians of the Four Quarters, we salute you.” Together, they turned in each direction, gazing until they seemed to see the Powers whose names and forms were hidden in the hearts of the wise ones shimmering before them.

She turned once more to face westward. “We honor our ancestors who have gone before. Watch over our children, holy ones.”
Eilan, my beloved, watch over me… Watch over your child.
She closed her eyes, and for a moment it seemed to her that she felt something, like a gentle touch on her hair.

Caillean turned to face the east, where the stars were fading into the glow of the moon. The air around her grew tense with anticipation as the others did the same, waiting for the first bright edge to lift above the hills. There was a flicker; her breath went out of her on a long sigh as the tall pine on the far summit appeared suddenly in stark silhouette. And all at once the moon was there, huge and tinged with gold. With each succeeding moment she rose higher, and as she left earth behind her she grew ever more pale and bright, until she floated free in unsullied purity. As one, the priestesses lifted their hands in adoration.

With an effort Caillean steadied her voice, willing herself to sink into the familiar rhythm of the ritual.

“In the east our Lady Moon is rising,” she sang.

“Jewel of guidance, jewel of the night,” the others chorused in return.

“Holy be each thing on which Thy light shines…” As Caillean’s voice grew stronger, so did the chorus that supported her, her energy amplified by that of the other priestesses, theirs rising as her inspiration grew.

“Jewel of guidance, jewel of the night…”

“Fair be each deed Thy light reveals…” Each line came more easily, power reflecting back from the other women’s response to her own. As the energy rose she found herself growing warmer as well.

“Fair be Thy light upon the hilltops…” Now, as Caillean ended a line, she found the strength to hold the note through the answer, and the others, holding their last note, supported hers in sweet harmony.

“Fair be Thy light upon field and forest…” Now the moon was well above the treetops. She saw the Vale of Avalon laid out before her with its seven holy isles, and as she gazed, the vision seemed to expand until it was the entirety of Britannia that she saw.

“Fair be Thy light upon all roads and all wanderers…” Caillean opened her arms in blessing, and heard Kea’s clear soprano soar suddenly in descant above the chorus.

“Fair be Thy light on the waves of the sea…” Her sight sped across the waters. She was losing awareness of her body now.

“Fair be Thy light among the stars of heaven.” The radiance of the moonlight filled her, the music lifted her. She floated between earth and heaven, seeing everything, soul outpoured in an ecstasy of blessing.

“Mother of Light, fair moon of the seasons…” Caillean felt her perception narrowing until the glowing moon was all she could see.

“Come to us, Lady! Let us be Thy mirror!”

“Jewel of guidance, jewel of the night…”

Caillean held her final note through the chorus and after, and the others, sensing the energy building, upheld it with their own harmonies. The great chord pulsed as the singers drew breath, but was sustained.

The priestesses rode the power, sensing without need for signal the moment to bring out their mirrors. Now, still singing, the women moved closer together until they formed a semicircle facing the moon. Caillean, still standing on the eastern side of the altar, turned toward them. The music had become a low hum.

“Lady, come down to us! Lady, be with us! Lady, come to us now!” She brought down her hands.

Thirteen silver mirrors flashed white fire as the priestesses angled them to catch the moonlight. Pale moon-circles danced across the grass as they were turned toward the altar. Light gleamed from the silver surface of the bowl, sending bright flickers across the still forms of the priestesses and the standing stones. Then, as the mirrors were focused, the reflected moonbeams met suddenly on the surface of the water within. Thirteen trembling moonlets ran together like quicksilver and became one.

“Lady, Thou who art nameless yet called by many names,” murmured Caillean, “Thou who art without form and yet hath many faces, as the moons reflected in our mirrors become a single image, so may it be with Thy reflection in our hearts. Lady, we call to Thee! Come down to us, be with us here!”

She let out her breath in a long sigh. The humming faded to silence that throbbed with expectation. Vision, attention, all existence were focused on the blaze of light within the bowl. She felt the familiar shift of awareness as her trance deepened, as if her flesh were dissolving away, and no sense but sight remained.