Lady of Avalon (50 page)

“Or perhaps I am simply too tired to care,” Viviane replied. “Go away, Mother, or you and I may both regret my words.”

For a moment Ana stared at her; then she sat down. “Viviane, what has gone wrong between us? We are both bearing new lives-we should be rejoicing together, not trying to tear each other apart.”

Viviane sat up, rubbing her back as her temper began to fray. She told herself that pregnant women were easily upset, but only her mother had ever had the power to drive her so completely past reason.

“Together? I am your daughter, not your sister. You should be looking forward to becoming a grandmother, not giving birth to another baby of your own. You accused me of jealousy, but wasn’t it the other way around? Once you knew of my condition, you got with child yourself as soon as you could!”

“That was not why-” Ana began.

“I don’t believe you.”’

“I am Lady of Avalon, and no one doubts my word! You were a disobedient girl who should never have been made priestess.” Ana’s eyes darkened and she seemed to expand as she too gave way to rage. “What makes you think you will be a decent mother? Look at you! Even at my age I am in better condition. How do you expect to bear a healthy child?”

“You cannot say that! You must not!” screamed Viviane, hearing her own worst fear. “Will you ill-wish me now, so near my time? Or perhaps you have already. Was it not sufficient that you should have all the care and energy of the others? Have you drawn the strength from my child to carry your own?”

“You are mad! How could I-”

“You are Lady of Avalon-how can I tell what spells you know? But from the moment you conceived, I began to ail and grow sickly. You gave yourself to the Hunter. What powers does He give one who carries His seed in her womb?”

“You accuse me of betraying my oaths?” Ana’s face went white.

“Oh, I am sure it was done for the most noble of purposes. You would sacrifice anyone or anything to your notion of the will of the gods! But this is my oath, Mother. You shall not sacrifice
me,
and you shall not harm my child!”

Rage had suspended all awareness of her aches and pains. Ana was replying, but she could not hear. Shaking with fury, Viviane grabbed her own cloak from its peg and slammed out the door.

Once before she had run, but now Avalon was truly an island. Viviane pushed off in the first boat she could find, and used the pole to thrust it out into the water. Made ungainly by pregnancy, she found it surprisingly hard to keep her balance in the punt, and awkward to pole, but she persisted. She had tended the people of Heron’s village often enough in the past-surely they would take her in now.

It was not precisely raining, but mist lay low upon the marshes, and the wind was damp and cold. It chilled the sweat on her brow, for indeed she was out of condition for such exertions, and soon her backache was far worse than it had been before. Gradually, the anger that had impelled her flight faded, first to impatience to reach the other shore, and then to fear. It had been months since she had worked any magic. Would the mists obey her call?

Carefully she stood, for here the waters were too deep for the pole and she had been paddling, and lifted her arms. It was hard to let go of the self that had been fighting so hard to carry her child, hard to let her anger at her mother go, but for an instant Viviane achieved it, and she brought down her arms with all her might and cried out the Word of Power.

She felt the balance of the world shifting around her, and fell. The punt bobbed wildly beneath her and shipped some water, but did not overturn. Viviane could feel the difference-the air somehow heavier, and a dank, muddy smell on the wind. Before she could get upright a cramp rolled through her belly, short but severe. Clutching the rim of the punt, she doubled up, waiting for it to pass. But as soon as she sat up, she felt another. There was no nausea, and that surprised her, but when a third cramp rolled through her belly, surprise gave way to consternation. This could not be labor! It was a month too soon!

Babies were not born in a moment, and she had been told that a first child especially took some time. She could see a huddle of trees dim in the distance; pausing for each contraction, she paddled toward the shore. At least, she thought as she reached it, she would not give birth in the middle of the lake. But her pains were still coming strongly, and she was beginning to have an unhappy suspicion that the backache she had thought the onset of illness had in fact been early labor.

She remembered also how swiftly the marsh women she had attended sometimes had their babies, and she was much like them. She wished devoutly that she were safe in one of their villages now. It occurred to her that she had cursed herself far more effectively than she had accused her mother of doing, that in fact her foolishness might cost her own life, or that of her child.

I will never,
she thought, gasping as another contraction doubled her over,
allow anger to cloud my judgment again!
Warm liquid trickled down her leg; she realized it had been doing so for some time.

Viviane managed to get above the mud on the shoreline, though there was no place where the ground was dry. By the time she reached the trees, she realized she could walk no farther. But there was a spot beneath the thick foliage of a large elder bush that offered some shelter. She spread her cloak beneath her and curled into its embrace.

And there, somewhere between noon and sunset, she gave birth to Vortimer’s child. It was a daughter, seeming almost too fragile to live, but tiny and perfect, with hair as dark as her own, who mewed faintly as she felt the touch of the wind. Viviane tied off the cord with the lace from her gown and cut it with the little sickle knife of a priestess that never left her. She had enough strength to put the child to her breast, held snugly against her body within her gown, and to pull the cloak around them. Then she could do no more.

Viviane fell into an exhausted sleep, protected by the elder tree. It was there, as twilight began to veil the marshlands in shadow, that a hunter of Heron’s people found her and carried her to his home.

From here she could see across the Vale to Inis Witrin. She was sure she had located the spot correctly, the analogue in the world of men to the place where they had laid Vortimer on the Watch Hill of Avalon. The Goddess had said that the Great Rite would make Vortimer a king-but the kingship she had given him had been in the Otherworld. Perhaps Eilantha’s father could keep her safe there, since in this one her mother had failed. Three months only, Viviane’s little daughter had lived, and at the end was scarcely larger than Igraine had been the day she was born.

Viviane’s full breasts still ached fiercely, leaking milk as the tears slid from her eyes. She crossed her arms, hugging herself fruitlessly. She had not bothered to seek out the herbs that would dry up that flow. Time would do it for her all too soon; until then, she welcomed the pain. She wondered if in time her tears would cease to flow as well.

She heard a step on the path, and looked up, expecting to see the hermit monk who kept the chapel on this hill. He was no Father Fortunatus, but neither was he one of those who thought all women snares of the Devil, and according to his lights he had been kind to her. The sun was behind him, and for a moment she could see only a tall shape against the light. Something about it reminded her of the Horned One, and she stiffened. Then he moved, and she recognized Taliesin.

She let out her breath in a long sigh.

“I am sorry I never saw her,” he said in a low voice, and, looking into his worn face, Viviane knew that he spoke truth, and forebore to ask him why he should care.

“They said she was a changeling,” she said instead. “When Eilantha began to ail, the women of Heron’s village said it was because one of the fairy women had substituted her own sickly babe for mine while I lay sleeping after she was born.”

“Do you think that is true?” he asked gently.

“The fairy folk breed rarely. I do not think they have enough children, healthy or ailing, to account for all those who die in the lands of men. But it is possible. The Lady of Faerie knew about my child-she told that hunter who rescued me where to look. I was too weary to speak even the smallest spell of protection, and we were alone.”

Her own voice sounded flat in her ears, and he looked at her oddly. The marsh folk had been afraid to speak to her of the baby, but what did it matter? Really, she could hardly think of anything that mattered now that Eilantha was gone.

“Do not torture yourself with such thinking, Viviane. In such a year as this, many babes have died who were born safe and warm at home.”

“And what of my new brother, the Defender of Britannia?” she said bitterly. “Are they drinking his health now on Avalon? Or is it another daughter to supplant Igraine?”

Taliesin winced, but his expression did not change. “The baby is not yet born.”

Viviane frowned, counting back to Samhain. If her own babe had come early, then Ana’s was certainly overdue. “Surely you should be with her, holding her hand. There is nothing that you can do for me…”

He looked down. “I would have come to you, my daughter, but the word that Heron brought us was that you wanted to be left alone.”

She shrugged, for that was true, though there were times when she had needed him, and thought that if the Druids were as wise as they believed, he should have known.

“It is your mother who has sent for you, Viviane-”

“What, again?” She began to laugh. “I am a grown woman now. You may tell her that never again will I dance to her tune.”

He shook his head. “I phrased it badly. It is no order, but a request that I bring you. Viviane”-his composure broke suddenly-“she has been in labor now for two whole days!”

It serves her right!
came her first thought, followed, in the next instant, by a rush of fear. Her mother couldn’t die. Ana was the Lady of Avalon, the most powerful woman in Britannia; like the Tor itself, loved or hated, she had been something to push against, the foundation upon which Viviane had built her own identity.

Thus spoke that part of herself that Viviane had thought buried in Eilantha’s small grave. But the part that had learned so painfully to think like a priestess told her it was only too possible. And it was clear that Taliesin was afraid.

“I could not even keep my own baby alive,” she said tightly. “What do you expect me to do?”

“Only to come to her. She needs you to be there.
I
need you, Viviane.” Something tormented in his voice reached her, and she looked at him again.

“You were the Horned One, weren’t you?” she said softly. “She is bearing your child.” Suddenly she remembered how He had touched her belly with His spear.

His face was hidden behind his hands. “I don’t remember… I would never have agreed to it if I had known.”

“No man can claim to have fathered a child to the Lady…,”
she quoted softly. “It was not your doing, Taliesin. I saw the God, and did not know the flesh He wore was yours. Get up now, and take me home.”

“Oh, Viviane, I am so glad you have come!” Rowan hurried out of the Lady’s dwelling and hugged her rather desperately. “Julia had not finished teaching me, and I don’t know what to do!”

Viviane shook her head and looked up at her friend. “My dear, I have had even less training than you-”

“But you were with her the last time, and you’re her
daughter
…” Rowan was looking at her with an almost avid intensity that reminded her of the way people sometimes looked at the Lady of Avalon. It made Viviane uneasy. “I heard about your baby. I’m so sorry, Viviane,” Rowan added, rather belatedly.

Viviane felt all expression leaving her face. She nodded stiffly and brushed past the other girl and through the door.

The scent of blood and sweat hung heavy in the shadows of the room. But not yet death-Viviane had learned too well the odor of mortality. Her breath caught as her eyes adjusted to the gloom and she saw her mother lying on the straw. Claudia, the only other one of the priestesses who had borne more than one child, was sitting beside her.

“She’s not walking?”

“She walked the first day, and much of the second,” Rowan replied in the same whisper, “but not now. The contractions have slowed, and the opening to her womb is smaller than it was before…”

“Viviane-” Weak as her mother’s voice was now, it still held that exasperating note of command.

“I am here.” Viviane managed to keep her voice steady, despite her shock at her mother’s ravaged face and misshapen form. “What do you want of me?”

Amazingly, the reply was a thread of laughter. Then Ana sighed. “Perhaps we could begin with forgiveness…”

How could her mother know she had sworn never to forgive her? There was a low bench by the bedside; suddenly aware of her own exhaustion, Viviane sat down.

“I am a proud woman, my daughter. I think you have inherited that from me… All those things I most dislike in myself I have fought to eradicate in you. With little success.” Her lips twisted wryly. “If I had kept my temper, you might have kept yours. I did not mean to drive you away.”

Her gaze went inward as a contraction rippled across her belly, but Viviane could tell it was a weak one. When Ana relaxed again she bent forward.

“Mother, I will ask you once only. Did you work magic to take strength from me or my child?”

Ana’s eyes met hers, and Viviane was shocked to see them filling with tears. “Before the Goddess I will swear that I did not.”

Viviane nodded. Ana’s labor must have begun about the time her little Eilantha died, but if there was a connection, she did not believe it had been made by her mother’s will. And this was not the time or place for her to blame the Goddess. They might yet have some bargaining to do.

“Then I will forgive you. If I am like you, I may need forgiveness myself one day.” She wanted to weep, or to scream, but she could not afford to waste the energy. She thought her mother was too exhausted to feel much emotion now.

Ana’s lips twitched, but another contraction was coming. She rode it out, but when it was done she looked perceptibly more tired.

“Are you thinking on what you can do for me? You have not the knowledge; indeed, I doubt that even Julia could help me now.”

“Three days ago I watched my little daughter die, and there was nothing I could do…” Viviane said thinly. “I will not let you go without fighting, Lady of Avalon!”

There was a pause. “I am open to any suggestion,” Ana said with a faint smile. “I was never easy on you, and it is fitting you should rule me now. But more than my life is at stake here. If nothing else serves, then you must cut me and take the child.”

“I have heard of that among the Romans, but it kills the mother!” exclaimed Viviane.

Ana shrugged. “They say that a High Priestess knows her time, but perhaps that is a skill we have lost. Reason tells me that the child and I will die anyway if the babe is not born. It is still alive-I can still feel it move-but it won’t live if this lasts too long.”

Viviane shook her head helplessly. “This is what I feared when I begged you to be rid of it-”

“My daughter, don’t you yet understand? I knew what I risked, just as you did at the Giants’ Dance when you lay down upon the altar stone. If I had not understood this danger, it would have been no true offering.”

Viviane bowed her head, remembering how Vortimer had spoken before he rode to battle. For a moment, she glimpsed a meaning to all this pain. Then the sight of the woman before her brought her back to the present. But thinking of Vortimer had given her an idea. She took Ana’s face between her two hands and held her gaze.

“Very well. But if you die, you will die fighting, do you hear?”

“Yes…Lady-” Ana grimaced as her belly clenched once more.

Viviane got to her feet and went to the door. “I want this open, and the windows as well, so that she can get some air. As for you”-she gestured to Taliesin-“bring your harp, and tell the others to get their drums. I have seen music give men strength in battle. We will see what it can accomplish here.”

Throughout the afternoon they fought, riding the rhythms of the drums. A little before sunset, the laboring woman’s back arched and she strained, and for a moment Viviane saw the birth opening ridge around the curve of the baby’s head. Claudia supported her as again Ana pushed, her features contorting, and again.

“The head is too big!” Rowan looked up with scared eyes.

“I can’t do any more.” Ana sank back from her last effort with a defeated sigh.

“You can!” said Viviane grimly. “In Briga’s name, this baby
will
be born!” She laid her hand on the hard belly and felt the muscles begin to move. “Now!”

Ana sucked in breath, and as she began to strain Viviane drew upon her belly the ancient sigil, and then pressed down with all the force she had. Power shocked through her hands, and the laboring woman heaved beneath her. She felt something give way, and Ana screamed.

“The head is out!” cried Rowan.

“Hold on to it!” Ana’s belly contorted again, less strongly, and Viviane pressed again. From the corner of her eye she saw the rest of the child emerging, but her attention was on Ana, who had fallen back with a groan.

“It’s over! You’ve done it!” She glanced over her shoulder. “It’s a girl!” From the baby came an outraged yell.

“Not…the Defender,” Ana croaked. “But she will have apart…to play…all the same.” She drew breath with an expression of sudden surprise. A strangled sound from Rowan made Viviane turn. Still holding the baby, the other girl was staring down at the bright blood that gushed from Ana’s womb.

Viviane swore, grabbed a cloth, and jammed it between Ana’s thighs. In a moment it was soaked through. The baby continued to wail in furious protest as they strove to stop the bleeding, but from the woman on the bed there was no sound.

After a time, the blood slowed to a trickle. Viviane straightened and looked at her mother’s white face. Ana’s eyes were still open, but they saw nothing. Viviane caught her breath on a sob.

“Mother…” she whispered, and she knew not if she spoke to the Goddess or to the woman who lay so still before her. “Why? We had won!” But there was no answer, and after a few moments she leaned over and closed those staring eyes.

The baby was still screaming. Moving stiffly, Viviane tied off the cord and cut it. “Wash and swaddle the little one,” she said to Rowan. “Cover her.” She motioned toward the body, and abruptly sat down.

“Sweet Goddess,” said Rowan presently. “How will we feed her?”

Viviane realized that the front of her gown was wet and her breasts were throbbing in response to the baby’s cries. With a sigh she undid the lacing at her neck and held out her arms.

The baby butted frantically at her breast, mouth gaping, and Viviane yelped as it closed around her nipple and her milk let down. Even at three months, her own daughter had never sucked so hard. The child coughed, lost the breast, and drew breath to yell, and Viviane hastily guided the nipple back in again.

“Hush! It is not your fault, little one,” she whispered, although she had wondered what kind of soul would choose to incarnate at Samhain. The newborn had Igraine’s coloring, but she was much bigger, far too big a child for a woman of Ana’s size to bear, even if she had been young.