Lady of Avalon (7 page)

“And so the ogres did nothing?” asked Lysanda.

“Not quite nothing,” answered Kea, and her voice held laughter. “The greatest of them, whose name on a night like this I will not speak aloud, swore he would bury the ring of stones where we worship the Mother-the one that lies to the northeast of here. One of the lines of power that run through the earth connects us, and this night the folk that live there will be lighting a fire on the central stone.”

“But what did the ogre do?” asked Gawen finally.

“Ah-well, I was told that he scooped up a great load of earth and bore it to the circle, but the Lady rose up and stopped him, and so he dropped the dirt in a great pile and fled. And if you do not believe me, you may go and see the hill for yourself. It is just to the west of the ring of stones. We send a priest and priestess there to lead the rites at the equinox of spring.”

A stronger gust of wind made the walls tremble. Gawen set his hand to the beaten earth of the floor, for a moment certain that the earth itself was shaking to some ancient, heavy tread. And what of the Fairy Folk, he wondered then. What of Sianna and the Queen? Did they ride the wind, or did they keep the festival in some secret place deep underground? Since that day on the lake he had thought of them often.

“Are we safe here?”

Gawen was glad it was little Dica who had asked.

“The Isle of Avalon is sacred ground,” answered Caillean. “While we serve the gods, no evil can enter here.” There was a silence, and Gawen listened as the wind whined round the rooftop and faded away.

“How long?” whispered Dica. “How long until the light comes back?”

“As long as it would take you to climb to the top of the Tor and come back down,” said Riannon, who, like the other priestesses, had an ability to gauge the passage of time that seemed uncanny.

“Then the Druids who will bring the fire are up there now,” said Gawen, remembering what Brannos had said to him.

It was Caillean who answered. “They wait for midnight, braving the cold and the dangers of the darkness. Be still now, my children, and pray to the Lady to kindle a light within your own darkness, for, though you may not think so, your darkness is deeper and more dangerous than this night that wraps the world.”

She fell silent. For a long time, it seemed, no one moved. Gawen laid his head against Caillean’s knee. No sound was heard but the soft sigh of breathing; even the wind had abated, as if all the world were waiting with the human souls who huddled here. He started as something touched him, then realized it was Caillean’s hand, stroking his hair. He stilled in wonder, and something within him that had been as frozen as the winter rime began to ease. As that gentle, regular caress continued, he turned his face against her thigh, glad that it was too dark for anyone to see the tears on his face.

It was not a sound, but some other change, perhaps in the air itself, that brought him to full awareness once more. It was still quite dark, but the shadows that surrounded him seemed to weigh less heavily. Someone stirred; he heard steps as someone went to the door.

“Listen!” The door was pulled open, revealing a rectangle of midnight-blue frosted with stars, and, faint as if the stars themselves were singing, came a breath of song.

“From darkness comes the light;

Out of our blindness, sight;

Let shadows now take flight!

Now at the holy hour

the word of power is spoken;

and night is broken…”

Gawen stiffened, straining to make out the words. Someone gasped and he looked upward. At the top of the Tor a light had blossomed, a tiny, flickering point of flame that in a moment was followed by another, and then a third. The maidens murmured, pointing, but Gawen was waiting for the next verse of the song.

“The year shall cycle round,

The cold earth be unbound,

All that was lost be found!

Now at the holy hour

the word of power is spoken;

the ice is broken…”

The line of light flowed downward, spiraling around the Tor. The voices faded as the light passed around the far side of the hill, and then, returning, grew stronger. As when he had yearned for the music of the Christians, Gawen trembled, hearing these harmonies. But whereas the monks’ liturgies were majestic affirmations of order, the melodies of the Druids met and parted, soaring and fading with the simultaneously free and inevitable harmony of birdsong.

“When loss is turned to gain,

By joy transforming pain,

Shall sorrow strive in vain.

Now at the holy hour

the word of power is spoken;

and death is broken…”

They were close enough now so that the torchlight showed him the men who carried them, a line of white-mantled Druids winding down the hill. Gawen swayed where he stood, wanting to be part of that music.

“The blessed tidings bring,

From winter cometh spring,

This is the truth we sing.

Now at the holy hour

the word of power is spoken;

and fear is broken…”

The singers, led by white-bearded Cunomaglos, approached the hall. The women parted to let the men enter. Brannos, his aged features luminous with the ecstasy of the music, met Gawen’s ardent gaze and smiled.

I will be a bard,
thought the boy.
I will! I will ask Brannos to teach me.

Pushing back into the hall behind the others, he blinked, confused by the brilliance after so long in the dark. A dozen flaring torches cast their light on smiling faces, but as Gawen’s vision sharpened, his gaze fixed on one person. Her fair hair floated in a nimbus around a face as bright as day; her eyes shone. Very slowly a name took shape in his mind-
Sianna
-but this was not the very human girl with whom he had trudged and talked all one autumn day. Tonight she seemed entirely a daughter of Faerie.

Someone handed him a seedcake and he began to eat without taking his eyes from the girl. Gradually, with the nourishment, human senses returned to him. Now he could see the freckles that dusted her cheeks and the smudge on the hem of her gown. But, perhaps because of the hours he had spent in darkness, that first image retained the force of illumination.

Remember!
he told himself.
Whatever happens, this is the truth of her! Remember!

Always, thought Caillean, no matter how many Midwinter Nights she waited for the return of the light, there came a moment when she wondered if this time it would not happen, the fire would not kindle, and darkness would overwhelm the world. Tonight, as always, her immediate reaction when the first flicker appeared at the top of the hill had been relief. This year, perhaps, she had more reason to be grateful than most. After so many tragedies, the promise of renewal was especially welcome.

The wood in the brazier in the center of the hall had been lighted; with the heat from the torches, the temperature was rising rapidly. Caillean let her mantle fall open and looked around her. She was surrounded by smiles. Even Eiluned had for once allowed herself to be content.

Father Joseph, his own midnight services completed, had accepted her invitation with one of his monks, not the sour-faced Brother Paulus but a younger man, Alanus, beside him.

In what other bodies, what other lives and lands, have we waited together to greet the returning of the light?
she wondered. Encountering Father Joseph often set her thoughts on such paths. There was a curious comfort to the idea that, despite the confusions and sorrows of their present lives, something eternal would remain.

She made her way through the crowd to greet him.

“In the name of the Light I return your blessing. Peace be upon all within these walls,” he answered her. “I need to speak with you, Lady, regarding the training of the lad Gawen.”

Caillean turned, looking for him. The boy, his face flushed and his eyes like stars, was staring across the fire. She felt her heart twist. Eilan had looked like that after her initiation, when she came up out of the pool. Then Caillean followed the direction of his gaze and saw a fair-haired girl, as bright and merry of face as if she had been born from the flames, and, like a shadow behind her, the Faerie Queen.

Caillean looked from the gawky boy to the luminous girl and
felt,
in a way given sometimes to those trained as she had been, the completion of a pattern. After the night on which she had spoken to the Lady of Faerie, Caillean had thought a great deal about the child she had promised to take and her possible future here. It was hard enough to teach girls who had come from the lands of men. How was she to deal with a child brought up half in Faerie? But Sianna had not come, and after a time that concern had been overlaid by the demands of every day.

“Father-I will speak with you about the boy, but there is someone I must greet,” she said hurriedly. His gaze followed hers, and his eyes widened.

“Indeed, I understand. The boy spoke of them, but I did not quite believe. Surely the world is still a place of wonders!” he said.

As Caillean approached, the fairy woman stepped out from among the shadows to face her. She had that gift of drawing all attention when she wished, and conversation stilled as those whose sight had passed over her before suddenly saw her standing there.

“I come, Lady of Avalon, to claim the boon you promised me.” The Lady’s low voice carried through the hall. “This is my daughter. I ask that you take her to train as a priestess here.”

“I see and welcome her,” answered Caillean, “but, as for training, that decision must be made by the child herself and no other.”

The fairy woman murmured something and Sianna stepped forward to stand before Caillean, head bowed. The firelight glinted on her fair hair.

“I know that you are here with the consent of your kin. But have you come among us of your own free will, without threats or coercion of any sort?” asked Caillean.

“I have, Lady,” came the answer, spoken in a low voice, but clearly, though she must know that everyone was staring at her.

“Do you promise that you will live at peace with all the women of this temple and treat each of them as mother, or sister born of your own blood?”

For a moment Sianna glanced up. For the most part her looks were those of her unknown father, but she had her mother’s deep gaze. “The Goddess helping me, I will.”

“For the term of their learning the maidens we train here belong to the Lady, and may not give themselves to any man except as the Goddess shall require. Will you abide by that rule?”

“I will.” Sianna smiled shyly and looked down at the floor.

“Then I welcome you among our maidens. When you are grown, you may, if the Goddess calls you, take on the obligations of a priestess among us, but for now these are the only pledges by which we may bind you.” She opened her arms, and gathered the child into her embrace, dizzied for a moment by the sweet scent of that bright hair.

Then she stepped away, and one by one the others came up to welcome their new sister, doubt vanishing and frowns fading, even Eiluned’s, as they touched the maiden. Caillean glanced over at her mother, and glimpsed a smile lurking in the fairy woman’s dark eyes.

She has laid a glamour upon the girl so that we will accept her,
thought Caillean.
That will have to end. Sianna must earn her place here or we will be no good to her.
But there would be problems enough facing the child, who must learn to deal with the temples discipline as well as the strangeness of the human world. A small spell to get her started off successfully was surely no great wrong.

“This is Dica, and this Lysanda,” she introduced the last in line to Sianna. “You three will share the little hut by the cooksheds. Your bed there is waiting, and they will show you where to put your things.” She surveyed Sianna’s tunic, of natural wool embroidered with a profusion of leaves and flowers, and smiled. “Go now and get something to eat. In the morning we will find you a garment such as the other maidens wear.”

She made a little shooing motion, and Lysanda, always the bolder, reached out to take Sianna’s hand. The three girls moved off. In a moment Caillean heard the murmur of Dica’s voice and a ripple of laughter from Sianna in reply.

“Treat her well, and she will be a blessing to you. You have won my gratitude this day…”

Caillean only realized those words had not been spoken aloud when she turned, and saw that the Faerie Queen was gone. Suddenly the room was full of talk and laughter, as people who had been fasting all day attacked the feast spread out on the boards. To the Romans it would have seemed plain fare, but to the folk of the temple, accustomed to the simplest of boiled grains and greens and cheese, the cakes sweetened with fruit and honey, the stewed hares and roasted venison were almost overwhelming.

“So that is the daughter of the Lady of the Elder Folk, of whom Gawen has told me?” asked Father Joseph, coming to her side.

“It is.”

“And you are pleased by her arrival?”

“If I were not, I would never have let her take vows here.”

“She is not one of your flock-”

“Nor,” Caillean said slowly, “one of yours, Father. Make no mistake about that.” She took an apple from the basket and bit into it.