Lady of Avalon

  His head tipped in her direction, and he smiled. “Is that you, my fairy maiden? I am glad to know that you came safely home.”

  “I hear your plea, but this is not a decision to be made in a moment,” said Ana. “You must wait while I confer with my council. Better still, let Heron take you back to your own place. If we decide to come to your aid, we will not need you to show us the way!”

  The debate in the meeting hall went on until full dark.

  “Since the time of Carausius, Avalon has stayed secret,” argued Elen. “Before that, I have heard, the High Priestesses sometimes interfered in the affairs of the world, and it went badly. I do not think that we should change a policy that has served so well.”

  One of the Druids nodded vigorously. “That is so, and it seems to me that this attack, dreadful as it is, only proves the value of our isolation.”

  “The Saxons themselves are heathens,” said Nectan. “Perhaps they are doing us a favor to cleanse the land of these Christians, who would call our Goddess a demon and kill us all as worshippers of their Devil.”

  “But it is not only the Christians they are killing!” pointed out Julia. “If they slaughter all the marsh folk, who will man the boats that take us back and forth when we must travel in Britannia?”

  “It would be shameful to desert them, who have served us so long and well,” put in one of the younger Druids.

  “And the Christians of the abbey are different,” offered Mandua shyly. “Did not Mother Caillean herself befriend their founder?”

  “If not now, when will we use our power?” asked the young Druid. “Why learn to work magic at all if we do not use it when there is need?”

  “We must wait for the Deliverer whom the gods have promised,” said Elen. “He will take up the Sword and drive these evil ones from the land!”

  “May he be born soon!” breathed Mandua.

  They were still arguing when Viviane, no longer able to control her exasperation, left the hall. Father Fortunatus had given her no more than his good wishes, but she could not get him out of her memory. Surely not all the Christians could be fanatics if such men as he were among them. And she knew there was still a connection between Avalon and Inis Witrin. Despite the protections of which the priestesses had been boasting, she could not help wondering how Avalon might be affected if Inis Witrin were destroyed.

  As often happened these days, Viviane found that her steps had brought her to the sanctuary where the Treasures were guarded. She had the right to come and go as she pleased, and the Druid on watch stepped aside for her.

  Why is he guarding them? she wondered, contemplating the ghostly shimmer of power that came through the cloths with which they were veiled. True, she had used the Grail to bless the land, but Avalon was already holy. The land that needed blessing was in the outside world. No one had wielded the Sword since Gawen; she did not even know the last time anyone had used the Platter or the Spear. Who were they saving them for?

  As if it had sensed her thought, from the direction of the Grail came a brighter glow. It wants this, thought Viviane in wonder. It wants to work in the world!

  She thought back over the past few days. Although the ritual restrictions of the weeks before the equinox had been relaxed, she had become accustomed to keeping to that diet, and with all the excitement, today she had eaten nothing since noon. Taking a deep breath, she moved toward the Grail.

  “What are you doing?” Taliesin was standing in the doorway, fear stark in his eyes. “There has been no preparation, no ceremony—”

  “What has to be done. You are all too divided to take action, but I see only the need, and I feel that the Grail desires to answer. Will you deny that I have the right?”

  “You have the right. You are the Guardian.” The answer was wrenched from him. “But if you have misunderstood its wishes, the Grail will blast you—”

  “It is my own life I am risking, and I have the right to do that too…” she said gently, and saw his face change as the fallible human was replaced by something greater, as she had seen happen to him in ritual and at certain other times before.

  “How will you pass to the other isle?”

  “If I am meant to go there, then surely the Grail has the power to show me the way.”

  He bowed his head. “It is so. Go to the well and walk three times around it, holding in your mind the place you would go, and when you have finished the third circuit, you will be there. I may not forbid you, but I will follow, if you will, to watch over you….”

  Viviane nodded, and then the glory washed away all human perception as she brought forth the Grail.

  Taliesin understood that the Powers of Avalon had preserved their secrets, for the Maiden who carried the Grail away from its treasury was no longer Viviane. But he himself retained enough awareness to feel both fear and awe in full measure as they passed between the worlds. And then the sweet darkness of Avalon was replaced by the scent of smoke, and the night song of the crickets by the screams of dying men.

  The men of the White Dragon were attacking Inis Witrin. Some of the outlying buildings were already in flames. The dark people of the marshes attempted to defend it, but they fell like children before the strength of the Saxons. A running fight had spread away from the hermitages clustered around the old church through the monks’ orchard and the sheds they had built below the well.

  The Maiden stood before it, looking down at the scene. The Grail, still veiled, was cradled against her breast, and her whole body seemed to shimmer. In the depths of the well house, like a reflection, Taliesin saw a ruddy glow. Presently someone saw her, and shouted. The marsh folk hung back, but the Saxons, hearing the word “treasure,” started to run toward her, giving tongue like wolves on a trail.

  The Saxons had attacked with fire. It was right, thought Taliesin, that the power of Water should combat them. Though their howling unnerved him, as they charged he stood fast behind the Maiden, who faced them with untroubled serenity. And then, when he could see firelight glinting on the first man’s bared teeth, she pulled the cloth away from the Grail.

  “Oh, men of blood, behold the blood of your Mother!” she called in a clear voice, and began to pour out the water she had dipped up from the well on Avalon. “Men of greed, receive the treasure you desired, and come to Me!”

  To Taliesin, it was a river of Light that poured toward them, so bright that he could scarcely see. But the Saxons began to blunder about as if they had been blinded, shrieking about darkness. And then the water engulfed them, and they drowned.

  In the days that followed, there were as many accounts of that moment as there had been eyes to see. Some of the monks swore that the holy Joseph himself had appeared, the flask containing the blood of the Christos which he had brought with him to Britannia blazing in his hand. Those Saxons who survived swore that they had seen the great queen of the Underworld herself just before the river that encircles the world rose up to sweep them away. The marsh men, smiling their secret smiles, spoke among themselves of the goddess of the well who had once more come to help them in their time of need.

  It was Taliesin, perhaps, who came closest to truth when he reported to the High Priestess what had occurred, because he was wise enough to know that human words can only distort the reality when something transcendent passes through the world.

  Viviane herself could tell them nothing. For her there was only a memory of glory, and from Father Fortunatus, sent by the hand of one of the marsh folk, a wreath of fairy flowers.

  Chapter Twenty

  The winter passed quietly. The first cold had sent the reivers back to their lairs in the east, and their victims bound up their wounds and set about rebuilding their homes. News came that the sons of Vortigern had driven Hengest back to the Isle of Tanatus and besieged him there. Patiently, the world waited for spring; and in Avalon, all waited for the birth of the Lady’s child.

  After the raid, Viviane had asked once more for initiation, but she had not been surprised when h
er mother refused. As Ana had said, she ought to have been disciplined for taking matters into her own hands. The only thing that excused her was the fact that she had succeeded. The council would never have authorized such a thing, but failure would have brought its own punishment. What the Grail itself had approved, the High Priestess could not condemn. Still, she did not have to reward her daughter’s presumption.

  But this time, Viviane did not complain. She and her mother both knew that whenever she pleased she could simply walk away. After the baby was born there would be a decision, for, whether the child was a boy, or a girl who might supplant her, its birth would change everything. And so Viviane, like Ana, waited with increasing impatience for spring.

  The feast of Briga passed, and the blossoms began to fall from the apple trees. As the spring moved toward its equinox, the meadows, lushly green after the winter’s flooding, began to adorn themselves with dandelions, little purple orchids, and the first white stars of cow parsley. In the wetlands one might find a few white blossoms of the water crowfoot and the scattered gold of marsh marigold; on the banks, the yellow flag began to show her colors, and the first forget-me-nots lay like bits of fallen sky. The weather grew changeable, one day stormy with a hint of winter chill and on the next smiling a promise of summer. Safe in her mother’s womb, Ana’s child continued to grow.

  Ana levered herself up from the bench with the aid of her staff and resumed her climb. Until now, it would not have occurred to her to consider something the younger priestesses did a dozen times a day a “climb,” but in her current state, the bench that had been placed halfway between the shore of the lake and the meeting hall for the benefit of the older members of their community was very welcome. The staff was not for support, but for balance, to keep her from falling if her foot turned on a stone she could not see.

  She gazed over the swell of her belly with mixed exasperation and pride. She must look like a horse pushing the cart. A pregnancy that on a taller woman would have looked stately, on her was grotesque. Taliesin might be thin, but he was a tall man, and she suspected that this child was going to take after him. She reminded herself that she had borne her first two daughters without much trouble, and they had been big and fair. Viviane’s birth had been easy, for she was small.

  But, then, she thought wryly, I was not nearly forty years old. At sixteen she had scampered up and down the Tor without pausing for breath up to the day of her delivery. This time, though the euphoria of pregnancy had brought her through the first two-thirds in good spirits, these last three months had made it quite clear that her body no longer had the resilience of youth. This should be my last child….

  Some sense more subtle than hearing made her pause. Looking up, she saw her daughter watching her. As always, the sight of Viviane evoked both pain and pride. The girl’s sharp features showed no emotion, but Ana sensed the same mingling of envy and scorn Viviane had felt since she first learned about the child. As her mother’s belly had grown, however, the envy had been diminishing.

  Now she is beginning to understand. If only she realized that the rest of it—the work of a priestess, especially the role of the Lady of Avalon—brings just as much pain as joy! I have to make her see that somehow!

  With her thoughts on her daughter, Ana paid less attention to the path, and when her foot slipped on a patch of mud even the staff was not enough to save her. She tried to twist her body sideways as she went down, and felt the wrench of overstressed muscles in her arm as it took the first impact. But nothing could prevent her distended belly from taking the rest of her weight. The breath went out of her in a grunt as she landed, and for a moment the shock took all her senses away.

  When she could see again, Viviane was kneeling beside her.

  “Are you all right?”

  Ana bit her lip as one of the small tremors that she had been experiencing at intervals for the past week tensed the muscles of her abdomen. This time, however, it left a deeper, meatier ache in her womb. She let out her breath in a long sigh.

  “I will be,” she whispered. “Help me to get up again.”

  With the aid of Viviane’s strong arm, she got her legs under her and rose to her feet. As she did so, she felt a trickle of warmth between her legs and, looking down, saw the first drops of waters from her womb soaking into the ground.

  “What is it?” cried Viviane. “Are you bleeding? Oh—” Connecting what she was seeing with the training in midwifery that all the novices received, she looked at her mother, a little paler than she had been, and swallowed.

  Ana grimaced at the girl’s confusion. “Just so. It has begun.”

  Viviane watched in fascination as her mother’s belly distorted with another contraction. Ana stopped walking and gripped the edge of the table, sucking in her breath. She could bear no clothing, and they had built up the fires in her dwelling to keep her warm. Viviane found herself sweating in her thin robe, but Julia, who was their most experienced midwife, and old Elen seemed comfortable as they talked by the fire.

  In the hours since Ana’s labor had begun, it had occurred to Viviane more than once that this was an exceedingly unlikely way for human beings to come into the world. It was almost easier to believe in the Roman tales of births from the eggs of swans and other unusual beginnings. She had watched animals give birth when she was a child on Neithen’s farm, but that was a long time ago, and although she recalled the babies sliding forth, wet and squirming, the process itself had never been so visible as it was now, when she could see the muscles ridge beneath her mother’s bare skin.

  Ana sighed and straightened, arching her back.

  “Would you like me to rub it?” asked Julia. Ana nodded and braced herself against the table as the midwife began her massage.

  “How can you keep walking?” asked Viviane. “I should think you would be tired. Wouldn’t it be easier if you lay down?” She gestured toward the bed, where a clean cloth covered a pile of fresh straw.

  “Yes,” answered her mother, “I am tired, and no”—she gritted her teeth, motioning to Julia to stop until the next contraction went by—“it is not easier, at least not for me. When I stand, the baby’s own weight helps bring her down.”

  “You are so sure it is a girl!” exclaimed Viviane. “What if you are carrying a boy? Perhaps it is the Defender of Britannia who is struggling to come into the world.”

  “At this point,” the laboring woman gasped, “I would give thanks for a hermaphrodite.”

  Julia made a warding sign, and Viviane blinked. This contraction was stronger, and when it ended, there was perspiration on Ana’s brow.

  “But perhaps you are right. I think…that I will rest for a little while.” She let go of the table, and Viviane assisted her to lie down. It was clear that in this position the contractions were more painful, but at the moment being off her feet made it worthwhile.

  “There is a point in every labor…when one would like to forget the whole idea….” Ana closed her eyes, breathing carefully, as the next contraction rolled through. “Girls call for their mothers…. Even priest-esses. I have heard it often. I did it myself, the first time.”

  Viviane moved closer, and when the next pain came, Ana gripped her hand. She could tell by the strength of that squeeze what it cost the other woman not to cry aloud.

  “Have you reached that point?”

  Ana nodded. Viviane looked down at her, biting her own lip as her mother’s fingers dug into her hand once more. She went through this to bring me into the world…. It was a sobering thought. For the past five years she had fought her mother without compunction, hoping, at most, to be able to hold her own. But now Ana lay in the hand of the Goddess, helpless to withstand Her power. Allowing Viviane to see her in this moment of vulnerability was the last thing the girl would have expected her to do.

  The contraction passed, and Ana lay panting. Moments went by without another. Perhaps they were like the showers that come and go as the clouds pass by in a storm.

  Viviane clea
red her throat. “Why did you want me here?”

  “It is part of your training to see a child born….”

  “Your child? I could have gotten this experience assisting one of the marsh women—”

  Ana shook her head. “They drop their babes like kittens. I did myself, the first three times. They say that later children come more quickly, but I think my womb has forgotten how.” She sighed. “I wanted you to see…that there are some things that even the Lady of Avalon cannot command.”

  “You won’t even make me a priestess. Why should that matter to me?” Hurt sharpened Viviane’s tone.

  “Do you think I have not wanted to see you initiated? Yes, I suppose I can see why you would. The reason—” She broke off, shaking her head. “The claims of the mother and the priestess are often difficult to reconcile. This child might be a boy, or a girl of no talent at all. As high priestess, it is my duty to raise up a successor. I cannot risk you until I know—” A new pain took away her breath.

  And as a mother? Viviane did not quite dare to say the words.

  “Help me up,” said Ana hoarsely. “It will take longer if I stay lying down.”

  She pulled herself up on Viviane’s arm, and held on to the girl’s shoulder. Viviane was the right size to support her, as none of the others could. Ana had always seemed so imposing, her daughter had never before realized how very much alike they really were.

  “Talk to me…” said Ana as they made their way back and forth across the room, stopping when a contraction came. “Tell me about…Mona…and the farm.”

  Viviane glanced at her in surprise. Ana had never seemed to care about her daughter’s childhood before. She wondered sometimes if she even remembered Neithen’s name. But the woman who hung on her arm, gasping, was not the mother she had hated, and pity opened her heart, and her memories. She spoke of the green, wind swept island whose trees huddled on the shore that faced the mainland and whose far end braved the grey sea. She told her of the scattered stones that had once been a Druid temple, and of the rites that the families descended from the survivors of Paulinus’ massacre still practiced there. And she spoke of Neithen’s farm and the calf she had saved.