"She was too young to know—"
"And you chose to keep me away from both girls!" I raged on. "Don't you know I would have watched them like a mother bear with two cubs to stop what I had seen from coming to pass? From the moment I first set foot on Avalon you have hated me! What have I ever done to deserve that? Can you tell me why?"
Ganeda gripped my arm, and as she jerked me around to face her, I sensed her energy expanding, and before the wrath of the Lady of Avalon, my anger seemed suddenly the petulance of a child.
"You dare to speak so, to me? With a single Word, I could obliterate you where you stand!" Her arm swung up in a sweep of dark draperies like the wing of the Lady of Ravens, and I cowered. For a moment the lapping of wavelets against the shoreline was the only sound.
And then, from the rich scent of wet earth and the whisper of water another kind of power began to flow into me, a steady, enduring strength that could absorb whatever lightnings Ganeda's majestic fury might call down. For a moment then I touched something fundamental within, although whether it was the Goddess or my own eternal soul I could not tell. Slowly I straightened, and as she met my gaze, the power ebbed from Ganeda's body until she was no more than an old, bent woman, shorter than me.
"You are Lady of Avalon," I said with a sigh, "but we are both daughters of the Lady who rules over all. In everything that concerns the good of Avalon I will obey you, but it is because I choose to do so."
She looked up at me, her seamed features carved in lines of light and shadow by the moon.
"You are young," she said in a low voice, "young and proud. Refuse to fear me if you will—life itself will teach you to be afraid, aye, and the meaning of compromise!" She began to make her way back along the shore.
"Dierna is my kinswoman too," I called after her, "and I will not let you keep me from being with her!"
At that Ganeda turned once more. "Have it your own way," she said tiredly, "but when I was younger, I too had visions. I have looked into the Sacred Well, and seen that it is Dierna who will be my heir. You do well to make a friend of her, for I tell you now that it is she, not you, who will be the next Lady of Avalon!"
Slowly, the terrible summer of Becca's death faded into memory. I knew what that tragedy had done to her sister, but as time passed it became clear that Ganeda had also been affected, more deeply than we, or perhaps she herself, knew. In body she was still vigorous—indeed, I do not believe that anyone without superior stamina could do the work required of the Lady of Avalon. But the edge that could cut friend and foe alike, was gone.
I found it hard to be sorry, and being young, I did not understand how life's buffets can wear down the spirit. Nor did I care enough to try. Strong in body and delighting in my own rapidly maturing powers, I went eagerly to my testing, and, certain of my decision, bestowed the bag of gold aureii with which I had been provided upon the family of the boy who had given me Eldri ten years before.
And so I entered the mists, and drew up from the depths of my being the Word of Power that would open the way, laughing because in the end it was so easy, as if I were simply remembering something I had learned long before. Heron and Aelia did likewise when their turn came, and like me were received back with rejoicing. But Roud never returned to us.
In the year of silence that followed, I was forced to look inward in a way that the myriad demands of my training had never before allowed. It was this, I think now, that was the true initiation, for it is not the adversaries outside oneself, that can be confronted and defied, that are most dangerous, but the more subtle antagonists that dwell within.
Regarding the oath with which that year ended, I must also keep silence, save that it was, as Ganeda had promised, an act of making sacred, of sacrifice. But though I offered myself to the Lady to be used as She willed, I did not then understand the warning that we cannot predict or control what the Goddess will do with us once that commitment has been made. Nonetheless, when my oath had been given, I passed through the Mystery of the Cauldron, and the blue crescent of a priestess was placed upon my brow.
With my attention fixed upon my own struggles, I did not at first realize that things were not going so well in Avalon. During our year of silence, Aelia and I grew ever closer. I was surprised to find that wordless, I understood more of what was in her heart than ever I had when we concealed our thoughts in conversation, and knew she felt the same for me. Using our voices only to sing the offices of the Goddess, words themselves took on a new and sacred meaning.
Thus, the deliberations at the first full meeting of the consecrated priests and priestesses to which I was admitted after my year of silence seemed charged with unusual significance. In truth, matters were serious enough. It had been several years since any new youths or maidens had come to be trained at Avalon, and Roud was not the only one who had gone out for her testing and never returned. In addition, the princes whose contributions helped to maintain the community on the isle had become increasingly unwilling to pay what was due.
"It is not that we have no money," said Arganax, who had become chief among the Druids the previous year. "Britannia has never been more prosperous. But the Emperor Claudius in Rome seems to have forgotten us, and with the death of Victorinus, the Imperium Galliarum has concerns more pressing than collecting taxes here."
Cigfolla laughed. "It is his mother, Victorina, who rules there now, despite those young cousins she has set up to warm the throne, and she is twice the man he was, from all I hear. Perhaps she would welcome the assistance of Avalon!"
"The princes supported us gladly when the foot of Rome was on their necks," said Suona. "It is almost as if they feel they no longer need us—as if they can abandon the old ways of Britannia now that they are free of direct control by Rome."
For a moment we stared at her in bemused silence. Then Ganeda cleared her throat.
"Are you proposing that we work magic to bring the emperors back again?"
Suona flushed and fell silent, but the others were babbling with speculation.
"We can decide nothing without knowing what we face," Ganeda said finally, "and we have exausted the knowledge available by any ordinary means…"
"What are you proposing?" asked Arganax.
Ganeda looked around the circle with the exasperated frown I remembered so well from my days as her student.
"Are we Greeks, to waste our lives debating the limits of our philosophy? If our skills are worth preserving, let us use them! The Turning of Spring is almost upon us—let us make use of this balance point between the two halves of the year to invoke the Oracle!"
* * *
CHAPTER FIVE
« ^ »
AD 270
"Seekers on the ancient ways,
Seekers on the Path of Light,
Now the Night gives way to Day,
Now the Day has equalled Night…"
Singing, the line of dark-robed priestesses moved with gliding steps around the circle, matched by the Druids in their white garments marching in the opposite direction. Dark and light in perfect balance completed the circle and came to rest. Arganax stepped forwards, lifting his hands in blessing. Behind him another priest stood waiting with the gong.
The Arch-Druid was a vigorous man in his middle years, but Ganeda, who had moved out to face him, seemed ageless, empowered by the ritual. Her robe, of so dark a blue it was almost black in the lamplight, fell in straight folds to the polished stone of the floor and the moonstones in the silver ornaments of the High Priestess glowed unwinking from her breast and brow.
"Behold, the Sun rules in the House of the Ram, and the Moon rests in the arms of the Twins," the Druid proclaimed. "The winter is past, and herbs are pushing their way towards the sunlight, birds return, proclaiming their readiness to mate, beasts emerge from their long sleep. Everywhere life arises, and ourselves with it, moved by the same tides, kindled to action by the same great energies… Keep silence, and behold the rebirth of the world, and as we are all One, behold the same great
transformation within…"
I closed my eyes with the others, trembling to the vibrations of the gong that echoed from the pillars of the Great Hall of the Druids. It seemed to resonate in every atom of my being. Lost in the beauty of the moment, I forgot to feel envy that it would be Heron and not I who would be sitting on the three-legged stool and descending to the Well of Prophecy.
"Awake! Awake! Awake!" came another voice, high and clear.
"Companions of the Cosmic Light,
The hidden splendour will appear!
Greet it on high and in your hearts,
Return to life, cast off your fear!"
I opened my eyes. Four youths stood now in the corners of the hall, bearing torches. Someone had cast the first handful of herbs onto the brazier, and in their light the sweet smoke glowed as if it had ignited the air. Now I could see the images painted on the plaster of the walls—an island surrounding a harbour, great temples, a pyramidal mountain spouting flame, and other scenes from the fabled land that in one day of doom had sunk beneath the wave. Like this ritual, those tales belonged to a wisdom of which the Druids were only the inheritors.
With question and response, the ritual rolled onwards, defining the sacred moment when, Night and Day being equal, a doorway opened between Past and Future and one who was properly prepared and guided might see between the worlds.
The circle opened to reveal a veiled figure, half-supported by Wren and Aelia. Carefully they guided her to the three-legged stool, steadying her until she found her balance there. The sacred drink has taken her swiftly, I thought, watching. Goddess grant it does not take her too far…
In the old days, I knew, they had called on the Goddess Herself to speak through the lips of Her priestess. Now, though the gods might come down sometimes to dance with us at their festivals, it was considered more useful for the Seeress to become open and empty of any personality, even her own, with no will save to describe the images she saw.
The High Priestess moved forwards to stand at her side. The little table with the silver bowl had already been set before her. Berries of mistletoe floated on the water along with other herbs. From where I stood I could see the glitter of torchlight on the dark water. I felt myself sway and blinked quickly to break the spell, then turned my gaze away, hoping no one had noticed my momentary disorientation. I was a trained priestess now, and should have had better control.
"Sink down, sink down… sink deeper and sink deep…'
Ganeda's voice was a murmur, leading the Seeress on her journey inwards, downwards, until the bowl of gleaming water became one with the sacred well beside the white cypress tree. Then she straightened and stepped away.
"What passes now among the Romans? What is the Emperor Claudius doing now?" Arganax asked.
For a long moment there was silence.
"Tell us, Seeress, what you see?" Ganeda prompted her.
A shudder vibrated through the sheer folds of the veil. "I see… cypresses against a sunset sky… no, it is firelight. They are burning bodies… one of the watchers staggers and falls…" Heron spoke softly, her voice calm as if she watched from some vantage point outside of the world. "The scene changes… an old man lies in a rich room. His bed is hung with purple, but he is alone… he is dead… Would you know more?"
"Plague—" whispered someone. "May the gods grant it does not come here…'
"Is the Roman power ended, then? Will they return to Britannia?" the Druid asked, and this time Heron's answer came without prompting.
"I see armies and ships—Briton fighting Briton… blood, blood and fire—" she shook her head in confusion, as if the images were overwhelming her.
"Sink back down to that place where there is only the shining water," said Ganeda in a low voice. "Tell me, who will come to our aid?"
Heron stiffened. "The Sun! The sun blazes in splendour! It blinds my eyes!" For a moment she remained transfixed, then let out her breath in a long sigh. "Ah—He comes… his armour is Roman, but his eyes are those of one who knows the Mysteries. There is a city… I think it is Londinium. In the streets people are cheering—"Redditor lucis… redditor!"
She stumbled on the unfamiliar Latin, but I could translate it: Restorer of the Light!
So could Arganax. He traded glances with Ganeda. "If this man is an initiate, he could help us greatly," he said in a low voice. Then he bent forwards again.
"Who is he—no, where is he now?"
Once more Heron swayed above the scrying bowl. "I see him… but he is younger. Hair like dandelion—" she added in response to further questions. "He is riding a chestnut mule along a Roman road… but it is in Britannia… the road to the lead mines in the hills…"
"Here!" exclaimed Arganax. "Surely the gods have destined that he shall come to us!"
The seeress was still mumbling to herself, but at the Druid's words she straightened, quivering like a drawn bow. "Destiny!" she echoed, and then cried out suddenly in a great voice quite unlike her own. "The son of the sun, greater than his father! A cross of light burns in the sky! All things changing! Fate hangs in the balance, the son will blaze across the world!" With a last ringing cry the Seeress threw out her arms, sending the scrying bowl spinning across the floor. I saw her begin to crumple, and Aelia and I were just in time to catch her as she fell.
After the noble stonework of Avalon, the round daub-and-wattle huts of the monks on Inis Witrin seemed clumsy and mean. I drew down my veil to hide the crescent on my brow as we climbed the slope, and Con, the young Druid who had been assigned to escort me, moved forwards to take my arm. Nearly six weeks had passed since the Oracle rite, and Beltane was hard upon us. After the usual debate regarding the meaning of the oracle's pronouncements, Arganax had sent out some of his young men to the Mendip Hills to see if any Roman fitting Heron's description could be found, and we had had to wait for their reply.
"You will have to let me talk to them. These holy men are forbidden to speak with a female," he said softly. The monks allowed us to keep the few horses belonging to Avalon in their pasture, in exchange for herbs and medicines. I wondered where they thought we came from.
"What, do they think I will tempt them to impurity?" I snorted derisively. "I will need to put on the guise of an ugly old woman when we meet the Roman. I might as well begin practising now." My father had made sure his children learned good Latin—it was one of the reasons I had been chosen for the task of bringing the Roman to Avalon.
As the path curved around, I could see the round church, the lower ambulatory supporting a central tower, whose thatch shone golden in the sun. Con showed me a bench near the sanctuary where I could wait while he went off to see about the horses. It was a surprisingly peaceful place in which to sit, listening to the soft drone of chanting that came from within as I watched the meandering progress of a butterfly above the grass.
The singing in the church soared suddenly and I turned to listen. When I looked back, the butterfly had alighted on the outstretched hand of an old man. I blinked, wondering how he had come there without my seeing him, for the area all around the church was clear. The other brothers I had seen wore rough tunics woven from the undyed fleece, but the old man's garment shone snowy white and the beard that covered his chest was as white as the wool.
"The blessing of the Most High be upon you, my sister," he said softly. "And my thanks to Him for allowing me to speak with you once more."
"What do you mean?" I stammered. "I have never seen you before!"
"Ah—" he sighed. "You do not remember…"
"Remember what?" Defiantly, I pushed back my veil. "You are a follower of the Christos, and I am a priestess of Avalon!"
He nodded. That is true—today. But in ages past we were both of the same order, in the land that now is sunk beneath the waves. Lives and lands pass away, but the Light of the Spirit shines still."
My lips parted in shock. How could this monk know about the Mysteries? "What—" I stammered, struggling for focus. "Who are you?"
"
My name in this place is Joseph. But it is not my name you should be asking, but your own."
"I am called Eilan," I answered swiftly, "and Helena…'
"Or Tiriki…" he answered, and I blinked, finding a strange familiarity in that name. "If you do not know who you are, how can you find your way?"
"I know where I am going—" With an effort I stopped myself from blurting out my mission, but it struck me that the old man already knew.
He shook his head and sighed. "Your spirit knows, but I fear that the flesh you wear now must walk a weary way before you understand. Remember: the symbol is nothing. It is the reality behind all symbols that is all."
I was still no closer to comprehending who or what this old man might be, but I had training enough to know that what he said was true.
"Good father, what must I do?"
"Seek ever for the Light…" he answered, and with his words, the sunlight on his white robe grew blinding.
I blinked, and when I looked up, Con was standing before me, saying something about the horses, and the old man was gone.
"The horses are waiting down by the gate," the young Druid repeated, "and the day is wearing on."
Still wondering, I allowed him to help me to my feet. I knew better than to speak of what I had seen, but I knew that I would be thinking about it for a long time to come.
Dusk was drawing its cloak across the Vale of Avalon, covering marsh and meadow alike with the same dim purple-grey. From my post by the Mendip road I could see from the higher ground in the east almost all the way to the Sabrina estuary, where the sun was setting into the sea. Now all but the Tor lay in shadow, with a gleam of water below. For ten years I had said farewell to the sun from within that scene; it was fascinating to observe it from outside. Indeed, it was in all ways strange and fearful and oddly exciting to be back in the world of humankind, even if only for a little while.