Lady of Avalon (21 page)

When he straightened, some of the men were cheering while others frowned. Teleri gasped for air, not quite believing what he had done to her. Then his callused hand thrust beneath the neck of her gown, groping for her breast, and his intentions became quite clear.

“Please”-she could not pull away, but she could turn her head now-“if he harms me you’ll get no ransom! Please make him let me go!”

Some of them at least had understood her Latin. Two or three stood up, and one of them took a step toward her captor. She did not understand what he said, but it was clearly a challenge, for the chieftain stopped what he was doing and reached for his sword. For a moment no one moved. Teleri saw how his pale glare moved from one man to another, saw the fight go out of them until no one would meet his gaze, and heard her own doom sealed as he began to laugh.

Teleri kicked and twisted as he picked her up, but her captor only gripped her more tightly. As he carried her toward the pile of bedding on the other side of the fire, she could hear the other men laugh.

For a long time Dierna had been wandering in a dream world of mist and shadow. She wondered if this was the marshlands below Avalon-cloud always clung to the borders between the protected sphere around the Holy Tor and the outer world. At the thought, the scene grew clearer. She stood on one of the many islets where a few willows clung to a hummock above the reeds. Feathers lay on the muddy ground; she nodded, knowing the mallard’s nest must be near. And now she could see her own small bare feet and the soaked skirts of her gown. But there was something she ought to remember. She looked anxiously around her.

“D’rna…wait for me!”

The call came from behind her. She turned quickly, remembering now that she had forbidden her little sister to follow her when she went to gather birds’ eggs, and the child had disobeyed.

“Becca! I’m coming-don’t move!” At eleven, Dierna knew the wetlands well enough to make her way through them alone. She was looking for fresh eggs for one of the priestesses, who was ill. Becca was only six, too small to jump from one tussock to the next; Dierna had not wanted the child to slow her down. But since their mother died the year before, the younger girl had been Dierna’s shadow. How had she gotten this far alone?

Dierna waded through the dark water, peering around her. A duck quacked in the distance, but here nothing moved.

“Becca-where are you? Splash the water and I’ll follow the sound!” she called. And when she had gotten her sister safe, she told herself then, she would paddle Becca’s bottom for disobeying her. It wasn’t fair! Couldn’t she have just these few hours to herself, without always having to be responsible for the child?

From the other side of the next hummock she heard a splash and stiffened, listening, until it came again. She tried to go faster, misjudged her step, and gasped as one foot sank into deep mud and continued to go down. She flailed wildly, grasped a trailing branch of willow, clung to it, bracing the foot that was on solid ground and working the other gently back and forth until the muck released its hold.

Dierna was wet to the waist now. Shivering, she called to her sister again. She heard a flurry of splashing from beyond the trees.

“D’rna, I can’t move,” came the reply. “Help me!”

Dierna had thought herself frightened before, but now terror shocked like ice through her veins. She grabbed at the reeds, not caring that they cut her hands, and pulled herself forward, clambered over tree roots, and, calling, pushed through the saw grass on the other side. The mist was heavy here, and she could see nothing. But she could hear Becca whimpering; she pushed off again, following the sound.

The way was blocked by a fallen willow. Dierna pulled herself into the branches, feet slipping on the rotting bark below. “Becca!” she shouted. “Where are you? Answer me!”

“Help me!” The call came again.

Firelight danced against Dierna’s closed eyelids, and she moaned. She had been in the marshes-why was there a fire? But that didn’t matter; her sister was calling, and she must go to her. She sucked in breath. She couldn’t move! Had the mud got her too? She twitched, struggling to remember her own body, and felt sensation returning with a rush of pain.

Someone was laughing… Dierna stilled. Then her sister screamed.

Dierna sat up, her head spinning, and when she tried to steady herself found her hands bound and fell over again. Through slitted lids she saw the fire, leering faces, and the white body of the woman who was struggling with the man in the fur vest. His breeches were down; the muscles in his pink buttocks flexed as he tried to pin the girl against the ground.

The priestess stared. She did not know where she was, but she understood what was happening here, and in that moment it was her sister who was once more calling her to help. With a grunt of rage, she snapped the ropes on her wrists and sat up.

The reivers did not see her move. They were watching the struggle, making bets on how long it would last. Dierna took a deep breath, seeking not calm but the control that would let her channel her fury.

“Briga,” she breathed, “Great Mother, give me your magic to save this child!” What could she use? There was no weapon in reach, even if she could have fought against so many, but there was the fire. With another breath she projected her will into those leaping flames. Heat seared her soul, but after the chill of the water in her memory, it was welcome. She embraced the torment, became part of it, rising until she stood at her full height in the midst of the fire.

To those who watched, it was as if the flames had been whipped to fury by an invisible wind, whirling upward until they could all see a woman formed of fire. For a moment she floated, sparks streaming from her hair; then she began to move. The reivers were on their feet now. Some, fingers flickering in signs of warding, began to edge away. One man threw his dagger; it passed through the fiery figure and clattered on the ground.

Only the man who was trying to rape Teleri failed to notice. He had the girl’s legs pinned now and was tugging at her breeches.

“Do you desire love’s fire? Receive my embrace, and burn!”
the goddess cried.

Arms of flame reached forward; with a yell the chieftain jerked away from the girl. He yelled again as he saw what had burned him, and wrenched his body to one side. The fire hovered above him as he scrambled, hampered by his own unbelted breeches, to get away.

But when he had rolled away from his victim it flared down again, pinning him as he had pinned the girl. In an instant his vest was smoldering and his hair was aflame. Then he began to scream in earnest, but his cries did even less good than had hers, for his men were crashing through the trees, tripping over their gear and each other in their haste to get away.

It made no difference to the fire. As long as he moved it continued to burn, and only when his last twitchings had ceased did the flame flare outward in a shower of sparks and disappear.

“Dierna…”

With a gasp, the priestess fell back into her body. She felt her unbound hands burning with the return of circulation, and bit her lip against the pain. Lewal was sawing at the ropes around her ankles; in another moment they too had been cut, and she shuddered as sensation prickled through her lower limbs.

“Dierna-look at me!” Another face swam into view, pale, framed by tangled dark hair.

“Becca, you’re alive…” she whispered, then blinked, for this was a grown woman, her torn gown hanging off one shoulder, her eyes still dark with the memory of terror, her cheeks wet with tears.

“I’m Teleri, Lady-don’t you know me?”

Dierna’s gaze moved to the fire and the burned thing beyond it, then came back to Teleri’s face.

“I remember now. I thought you were my sister…” She shivered, seeing once more the ripples that had ridged the surface of the dark water, and something pale below. Dierna had jumped into the pool, reaching until her fingers closed on cloth, then on her sister’s arm. Her breath came faster as she remembered pulling, going under, getting her sister’s head up, and grabbing for a floating log. Her struggles had wedged it against a bank, and with that for purchase she could try to pull once more.

“She was caught in quicksand. I heard her screaming, but when I got there she had been pulled under, and I was not strong enough to drag her free.” Dierna closed her eyes. Even knowing it was hopeless, she had stayed where she was, one hand holding on to Becca and the other to the log, until the searchers found her when they came searching through the marshes with torches.

“My Lady, don’t weep!” Teleri bent over her. “You were in time to save me.”

“Yes-you must be my sister now.” Dierna looked up at her and managed a smile. She held out her arms and Teleri came into them. It felt right, somehow.
This one I will keep safe,
she thought.
I will not lose her again!

“Lady, can you ride? We must get away before those beasts return!” said Lewal. “Look for food and waterskins. I’ll saddle three horses and set the others free.”

“Beasts…” Dierna echoed as Teleri helped her to stand. “Not so-no animal is so vicious to its own kind. This evil belongs to men.” Her head hurt, but she had long practice in conquering the body’s complaints. “Help me get on the horse and I will stay there,” she added, “but what about you, little one? How badly did he hurt you?”

Teleri glanced at the twisted lump of burned meat that had once been a man and swallowed. “I have bruises,” she whispered, “but I am still a maiden.”

In body,
thought Dierna,
but that demon has raped her soul.
Holding on to Teleri’s shoulder, she straightened, and stretched out her hand.

“This one will rape no more women, but he was only one of many. May the Lady’s fire consume them all! By fire and water I curse them, by the winds of heaven and the holy earth on which we stand. Let the sea rise against them and no harbor give them shelter. As they have lived by the sword, may they find a foe whose sword shall strike them down!”

Dierna could feel power leaving her as the curse sped outward. With the certainty that came sometimes in magic, she knew that these words had been heard in the Otherworld, and though she might never know what happened to the raiders, their doom was sure. If the Goddess was kind, she would one day meet the hero who punished them, and clasp his hand. She swayed, and Teleri steadied her.

“Come now, my Lady,” said Lewal. “I will help you to mount, and we will be gone.”

Dierna nodded. “Let us go home, to Avalon…”

“Your thread is so even,” sighed little Lina, looking from the lumpy yarn twisted around her own spindle to Teleri’s smooth strand.

“Well, I have had a great deal of practice,” Teleri said, smiling back at her, “though I never expected to need that skill here. But I suppose that, so long as princes and priestesses both need clothing, someone will have to spin the thread for it as we are doing now. The women in my father’s hall could talk of nothing but men and babies. At least what is spoken of over the spindles here has some meaning.” She looked over at old Cigfolla, who had been telling them how the House of Priestesses had come to be established in Avalon.

Lina eyed her dubiously. “But some of the priestesses have babies. Dierna herself has had three. They are so sweet. I dream of having a child in my arms.”

“I do not,” answered Teleri. “That is the only thing the women I grew up with
could
do. Perhaps it is natural to dream of what you do not have.”

“At least the choice is ours,” said one of the other girls. “When our priestesses dwelt in the Forest House long ago, they were forbidden to lie with men. I am glad that custom was changed!” she added fervently, and everyone laughed. “The priestesses of Avalon may bear children, but they do not
have
to. Our babies come by the will of the Goddess and at our own, not to please any man!”

Then I will not bear any,
thought Teleri, plucking another handful of wool.

Through the grace of the Goddess and Dierna’s magic, she was still a virgin, and content to remain so. In any case, she was vowed to chastity until she had completed her training and taken her final vows. From being the youngest in her father’s household she had become the oldest in the House of Maidens on Avalon. Even the royal daughters who were sent here for a little extra polish before marriage usually came at an earlier age. She had wondered if the other maidens would laugh at her ignorance-she had wasted so much time, and there was so much to learn! But after her journey with Dierna, some of the charisma of the High Priestess seemed to have rubbed off on her, and they treated her as an elder sister. In any case, she would not remain with the maidens for long. She had been here now for almost two years. In another year, perhaps she would take her vows and become the youngest of the priestesses.

Her only regret was that she saw so little of Dierna herself. As soon as they returned, the majesty, and the responsibilities, of the High Priestess of Avalon had enfolded her. Teleri told herself that she should be grateful to have had even so much of the Lady’s company. The other girls envied her for having shared that journey; they did not know that even now, when so many moons had passed, she still woke whimpering from dreams in which the Saxon chieftain was attacking her.

The spindle was growing heavy with its weight of spun wool. Teleri let it down until the point was supported by a flat stone against which it could twirl, and lengthened the yarn between her fingers and the shaft. She would have to wind off the yarn into a skein as soon as she had spun out the last of this wool.

Old Cigfolla, who despite stiff joints could outspin any of them, drew out a fine thread of flax. The wool they spun came from their own sheep, but the flax was given in trade or tribute to Avalon. Some of it, thought Teleri, might have come from her own father’s storerooms as part of the gifts he had sent after she came.

“We spin wool for warmth, and heavy linen for wear,” said Cigfolla. “But what shall we do with such a thread as this?” The spindle twirled and the thread, so fine it was almost invisible, lengthened again.

“Weave it into veils for the priestesses to wear, because it is the most perfect?” asked Lina.

“Indeed, but not because it is better-only because the cloth it makes is so thin. That does not mean your own work should be less smooth or even,” said the old woman sharply. “The apple tree is not more holy than the oak, nor wheat than barley. Each has its own purpose. Some of you will become priestesses, and some of you will return home to marry. In the eyes of the Goddess, all ways are equal in honor. You must strive to do whatever work She gives you as well as you can. Even if you are only spinning hemp for sacking, it should still be done as well as you know how. Do you understand?”

A dozen pairs of eyes met her rheumy gaze and flinched away. “You think that you are set to spinning here because we wish to keep you busy?” Cigfolla shook her head. “We could trade for cloth, as we do for other things. But there is a virtue in the cloth that is made on Avalon. Spinning is a mighty magic, did you not know? When we speak of holy things as we work, more than wool or flax goes into the thread. Look at your own work-see how the fibers twine. Singly they are no more than wisps on the wind, but together they grow strong. They are stronger still if you sing as you spin, if you whisper a spell into each strand.”

“What spell, Wise One, do you sing into the linen that will veil the Lady of Avalon?” Teleri asked.

“Into this thread is bound all that we have spoken of,” Cigfolla answered her. “Cycles and seasons, turning and returning as the spindle spirals round. Other things will be added in the weaving-the past and the present, the world beyond the mists and this sacred soil, warp and woof interweaving a new destiny.”

“And the dyeing?” asked Lina.

Cigfolla smiled. “That is the love of the Goddess, which permeates and colors all we do…”

“May She keep us safe here,” whispered Lina.

“Indeed She has,” said the old woman. “For most of my lifetime Britannia has been at peace within a united Empire. And we have prospered.”

“The markets are full, but people do not have enough money to buy,” objected Teleri. “Perhaps you do not see it, living here, but I spent too many years listening to those who came to plead in my father’s hall not to see what is happening. The things we import from elsewhere in the Empire grow steadily more expensive, and our people demand higher wages so that they can buy them, and then our own people have to raise their prices as well.”

“My father says it is all the fault of Postumus, who tried to split off the western half of the Empire,” said Adwen, who would take her vows along with Teleri.

“But Postumus was defeated,” objected Lina.

“Maybe so, but reuniting the Empire does not seem to have helped much. Prices are still going up, and our young men are taken away to fight at the other end of the world, but no one is sent to defend our own shores!” Teleri said hotly.

“That’s true,” chorused the others. “The pirates grow ever bolder.”

Cigfolla added another handful of flax and set her spindle spinning once more. “The world turns like this spindle… That good and ill shall follow one another is our only certainty. Without change, nothing new could grow. When the old patterns are repeated, it is in a new way-the face of the Lady changes, but Her power endures; the King who gives his life to the land is reborn to make the sacrifice anew. Sometimes I too grow fearful, but I have seen too many winters pass not to believe that spring will always come…” She lifted her face to the sun, and Teleri saw it filled with light.

To sit spinning with the other women was not the life of freedom she had imagined when she begged her father to let her come to Avalon.
Will I yearn always for a happiness that is beyond my grasp?
she wondered then.
Or will I learn in time to live contentedly within the mists that wall us round?

As the season advanced, the weather became warmer. Grass grew thick and green in the water meadows as the marshes dried. In the world beyond Avalon the roads were drying as well, and merchants and travelers began to move across the land, laden with goods and news. At times this spring, it seemed there was more of the latter, for the improving weather had signaled the start of the shipping season as well, and with the merchant ships, the pirates who preyed upon them also went to sea.

Though Dierna did not leave Avalon, news came to her. Messages came from women who had been trained on the holy isle or those who had at some point been helped by them, from wandering Druids, from a network of informants all over Britannia. Her communications were not so swift as those of the Roman Governor, but far more varied, and the conclusions to which she came were rather different.

As the moon moved toward the full just before Midsummer, the High Priestess withdrew to the enclosure on the Isle of Briga to meditate. For three days she stayed there, eating nothing, drinking only water brought from the sacred well. All the information she had gathered must be understood and analyzed and then, perhaps, the Lady would teach her what must be done.

The first day was always the hardest. She would find herself wondering about all the tasks, and the people, she had left behind her. Old Cigfolla knew more about running the affairs of Avalon than she did, and Ildeg, who was only a little older than herself, could be depended on to keep the young women in the House of Maidens in line. Dierna had left them both in charge many times when she traveled away from Avalon.

The priestesses understood what she was doing, but what about her children? How could she explain why they must not try to see her even when they knew she was not far away? Their faces filled her vision: her first daughter, who was slim and dark, what they called a fairy child, and the red-haired, lively twins. She ached for the weight of them in her arms. She told herself that her daughters were born, like herself, to the service of Avalon, and this was not too early for them to learn its price. That first child, fathered by a Druid priest in the rites, was gone from her already, being fostered by a family of the blood of Avalon who had built their home from the scattered stones of the old Druid sanctuary of Mona. The twins, her children by a chieftain who had called on her to help him restore his blighted fields, must soon follow. Her heart hurt most for them, but at least they had each other for company.

Dierna shook her head, recognizing these thoughts for the pointless distractions with which the mind always tried to avoid its task. It did no good to deny them-each thought must be allowed to surface, and then eased on its way. She fixed her gaze on the flicker of the oil lamp once more.

When she awakened the next morning, the little marsh woman who served her had left a basket with a few of the powerful mushrooms her people found in the fens. Dierna smiled and, after cleaning them thoroughly, chopped them fine and cast them into her small cauldron with the other herbs she had brought along. Leaning over the cauldron, she began to chant and stir.

The act of preparation was itself a spell, and even before she drank any of the liquid, the acrid steam that swirled from its dark surface had begun to alter her perceptions. She strained the contents of the cauldron into a silver cup and carried it outside.

The hut in which she had kept vigil was surrounded by a thorn hedge. The moon was already a quarter of the way above the eastern horizon, her oval shape shining pale as shell, and homing birds soared and swooped in the golden sky. Dierna lifted the cup in salutation.

“To Thee, Lady of Life and Death, I offer this cup, but it is I myself who am the offering. If my death is required, I am in Thy hand, but if Thou wilt, grant me instead a blessing-a vision of what is and what must be, and the wisdom to understand it…”

There was always that uncertainty, for the difference between a dose of the potion that was effective and one that was fatal was small, affected by the state of the mushrooms, by the health of the one who drank, and, as she had been taught, by the will of the gods. With only a little hesitation she set the cup to her lips and drained it, grimacing at the taste, and set the empty vessel on the ground. Then she wrapped her mantle of pale, undyed wool around her and lay down on the long, grey altar stone.

Dierna took a deep breath and let it out slowly, counting, and relaxed each limb in turn until she felt herself melting into the cold stone. Above her, the circle of sky was dimming from the luminous violet of sunset to grey. She gazed upward, and saw, between one blink of the eye and the next, the twinkle of the first star.

In the next moment a ripple of light seemed to pass across the sky. Her breath caught; then she forced her breathing to steady, responses trained by years of practice suppressing the instinct to fight or flee. She had seen one young priestess driven to madness because she had not the strength of will to give herself to the tumult of the senses that racked the body as the spirit of the mushroom took hold and yet retain control of the soul.

Now the starlight was pulsing in rainbows. She felt a moment of vertigo as the heavens seemed to turn themselves inside out, took another breath, and directed her awareness inward to the point of light in the center of her skull. The universe spiraled around her in swirls of multicolored light, but the observing “self” continued to throb steadily within. Monstrous shapes loomed from the shadows, but she banished them as she had banished the intruding thoughts before.

And presently the tumult began to lessen, her vision to focus until she was once more aware of herself lying upon the stone, gazing up at the night sky. She watched the heavens with a sustained attention that no one in a normal state of consciousness could have endured.