by Andre Norton
Around the body was still wrapped the Master’s cloak. Over its surface played rippling lines of color, each of which expressed the inner secret of some mystery not revealed to humankind unless such knowledge were hard fought for and the proper rites enacted.
On the quiet breast, the folds of that enshrouding garment had shifted aside. Lying there against the ivory of the skin was a length of substance I had never before seen. It was not the steel of a blade, nor any safe-ward I could understand. Nonetheless, though the thing had no place in my past, I knew what had to be done. Clutching the bell-bowl tightly in my left hand, I reached out with my right and raised the object from its resting place.
I held a cylinder measurable by my forefinger yet thicker than that, a rod not smooth but rather deeply graven. I brought it closer to eye level. This was very ancient—so old that it reached far back beyond any memory I could summon. The carving showed a woman’s lush figure, heavy-breasts and wide-hipped—a shape such as an artist might craft whose purpose was not to show the real but the ideal. Though I had seen its like only once, and that many lifetimes ago, I knew what lay in my hand.
This was the Great Goddess as the earliest of our race had known Her: the Earth Mother in all her fertility and strength. Hardly conscious of what I did, I put the bell and this new-found clapper together. The sound which shouted forth was no longer mere vibration; now it smote the ears like the brazen clangor of a mighty gong.
The closed eyes of the child-man opened and stared up into mine, neither blue nor gray in color and fiery with life and barely-leashed power. It was true, then—he who lay here in such strange guise was, indeed, restored.
The just-wakened one raised himself slowly, drawing the overlarge cloak about his body.
“So . . .” His voice had not the piping lilt of the youth he seemed but rather a stronger tone. “Welcome, Nimuë. ‘Root and branch shall change places, and newness will come to all things, as is the measure of the Power.’ Greatly must the earth have altered since last we met here—so much indeed, that, as I forespoke, the place of the trees and the very land is changed. As once you learned from me, so now must I relearn from you. How fares this world into which you have drawn me?”
I did not answer him in words; instead, pictures passed through my mind of vast sufferings—evildoings and bloodletting by men and the uprising of nature itself against humankind. And he also, I knew, read my recent memories, viewing what I myself had seen and, beyond that, perceiving through me knowledge far wider and deeper than any I could offer him.
He shook his head when I was done. “Dark are the roads trodden by mortals, for a host of ills are shaken from the garments of those who travel there! The Great Mother cannot be denied forever.”
“Yet,” I ventured to question, “what can any do, if the skies, seas, winds, and the earth itself rise in battle against us, as they have done?”
“We must make a beginning,” he answered. “I shall draw from you in full all that lore I once freely gave. Thereafter—together—”
My master, now my pupil, hesitated only a moment; then his fingers reached out and touched the wrist of the hand with which I held the bell. A charge tingled through my flesh as though I had grounded lightning, and in that instant I, too, might have uttered a prophecy. Great, in truth, had he been, but it was in him to be greater still, and under Her tutelage he would become the mightiest of Her servants.
Pulling the cloak tighter about him, he rose up, freeing himself from the shell of the tree trunk. Again he put out his hand to clasp mine, and I understood that in partnership we were to bring new life to a ruined world.
Thus—Merlin and Nimuë once more—we stepped forth into the open of that strange forest, and the ring of the bell was in rhythm with each purposeful step we took in company. Out of the shadows came a great gray wolf with whom my lord had once walked in harmony. From over our heads sounded the harsh cry of a raven, and ahead of us, waiting majestically, stood a horn-crowned stag, king of that woodland court to which Merlin had paid homage long ago.
And Time turned, even as the stars move in their appointed paths, and Hope was born anew to light the Dark.
White Violets
Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Fantasy Magazine
(1999) Issue # 45
Dilly was busy making flower-and-leaf bonnets for her two favorite dolls. She was also where she was not to be — in the garden alone. But Mackie, who had ruled her world almost since she was born and Mother had gone to Heaven, had a headache — one of her very bad ones which meant lavender-water cloths on her forehead, a dark room, and no noise. And Simpson, her sister’s maid, who was supposed to be keeping an eye on her, was busy with Violet’s gown to be worn this evening at the big ball.
Dilly pinned two leaves together with thorns and examined the effect. She had been told directly not to go into the garden, but here she was, which gave her a sense of adventure. However, she had not ventured far from the Manor — the garden was too large, and besides, Old Buskins, the head gardener, would soon be through with his elevenses. It was best to keep out of sight, which was why she had squirmed back into the bushes.
Only, suddenly, there were voices — one of them quite loud and angry and the other sounding nearly just as sharp, as Violet could speak when she was upset. Dilly dared to pull aside, though for only an inch or so, the branch which hid the newcomers from her.
Yes, it was Violet, though she was supposed to be resting before the ball tonight — the important ball when Papa would announce that she was going to marry Colonel Sir Christopher Hale. Dilly’s lips shaped soundlessly that very important name, which Violet and Papa shortened to “Chris.”
“It was entirely open to the understanding of everyone at tea,” he was saying in a harsh voice she had never heard before.
“Are you calling me a flirt?” Violet snapped back. She had picked a rose and was now pulling it to pieces.
“You were wrong to allow him to pay you so much attention, and you know it!”
“Now Clarissa is speaking through you!” Violet stamped her small foot, though only a twist of her wide skirt suggested the angry gesture.
Dilly’s mouth shaped a big O. Violet was angrier than her little sister had seen her since Bruce had broken her perfume bottle last Christmas.
“We’ll leave Clarissa out of this!” Chris returned. “She has only the best wishes for our happiness —”
“Does she?” Now Violet’s face looked white, almost as though she were going to be sick. “I was warned about her. She isn’t going to give up her brother willingly —”
“Shame, Violet — that is not just. Clarissa has been very kind and would be more loving if you let her. But she has nothing to do with your encouragement of Ridgley in such a public fashion —”
Violet was tugging at her wrist. The bracelet she wore there was caught in the lace of her sleeve.
“As well I learned in time, Colonel Hale, just what kind of suspicious tyrant you are! It is plain we don’t suit and never will if you can take some harmless fun so seriously. I don’t like your ordering me about, and I don’t like you anymore, either! You can give this back to Clarissa as a trophy to prove her dear brother is free from the toils of the seductress!”
“Violet, you’ve gone beyond reason!” The outraged man’s face was red, and his small mustache seemed to bristle.
“No, you have!” Violet tossed at her erstwhile lover the bracelet she had at last freed from the lace. The ornament fell to the ground just beyond the edge of her skirts. He made no move to retrieve it, as Violet, gathering up the same skirts a little, blundered away from the small clearing. Nor did she look back.
Chris stood very still. He looked, the eavesdropping child thought, like Papa when something at the Manor had gone very wrong. Not stooping for the bracelet, he turned and marched in the opposite direction as stiffly as if he were on parade before the Queen herself.
Dilly waited until she could no longer hear any footsteps from either direct
ion. Then she squeezed through the screen of foliage so that her hand could close upon the bracelet. Since Violet had thrown it away and Chris had not taken it up, then neither of them wanted it, and she had found it. She had never seen it really close, for Violet had only had it for a few days. Chris’s sister, the one who had fallen from her horse and couldn’t walk anymore, had sent it to Violet when the engagement had been known to their families.
Now Dilly turned the ornament around and around, admiring what seemed to her to be a true treasure. It was formed of gold links holding together ovals, every one a little picture set in a gold frame. And the designs were all of flowers made of small bits of white and green set into black, each forming a white violet.
The little girl closed her hand tightly upon the bracelet. No one wanted it; they had just left it lying there, so it was going to be hers. She had heard it had come all the way from Italy — Simpson had told the first housemaid that. Now she had a precious thing of her very own from far off! Pushing back under the bushes, she retrieved Rosamond and Lucy and, with them under her arm, she started back to the house, keeping hidden as best she could.
There was the sound of hooves on the circle drive, and Dilly saw Chris riding off.
Back up the second stairs to the schoolroom the child padded and hunted out her own secret place, which not even Mackie knew about. Dilly had discovered it herself one rainy day when she was tired of the doll family and the many-times-read books and had gone poking about, running her fingers along the carvings on the wall. There were a lot of these, because this was the oldest part of the Manor and the rooms here had once been important.
The child had pushed on a rose that day and been amazed when there had come in answer a creaking and the opening of a very small cupboard built right into the wall itself. Then, there had been nothing but dust inside, but Dilly had cleared that out and afterwards used the cubbyhole for secret treasures. There were the sixpence from the Christmas pudding and the little tarnished silver heart she had found back in a drawer, and now the bracelet joined them.
There was a great bustling in the house. Dilly dared to creep to Violet’s room and, even through the thick door, she could hear her sister crying hard and Aunt Susan’s voice sounding almost as sharp as Chris’s had been.
Of course, no one ever told Dilly anything, but she listened as she always did, and Mackie was not around to keep her in the schoolroom. Papa came up the stairs — the child could hear the heavy stamp of his feet in spite of the hall carpet — and went into Violet’s room. Then he roared, and Dilly heard all sorts of things about her sister’s behaving badly, shaming the family, and being an unfilial daughter with no feelings for anyone but herself.
In the end, all the preparations for the ball stopped right in the middle, leaving the servants whispering in corners. Then Mackie had found Dilly eavesdropping, and she, too, had been told she was a disgrace for listening.
The family never really let her know what happened, but, three weeks later, Violet and Aunt Susan went away. Papa spent most of his time shut up in the library, while all the servants kept as much distance as possible from that room.
It was autumn before Violet came back. She looked quite different — more like a grown-up lady. She always spoke in a sharp way and mostly ignored her little sister, but she had a new ring, and Dilly was going to have a new brother — Lord Ridgley. The child did not like him very much, for he acted as though he did not see her, was stiff, and had hard eyes.
Dilly was allowed down for tea on the afternoon that the news came about Chris. Lord Ridgley had brought in a paper from London and read it out loud: Colonel Sir Christopher Hale had fallen in battle with the Sepoy rebels at Lucknow, way off in India. Lord Ridgley looked at Violet right after he read that. The child saw her sister’s face go very pale and her hand shake so that her cup clattered on the saucer as she set it quickly down, but her lips were very tight together, and she raised her eyes and looked back at Lord Ridgley, saying:
“He was doing his duty; that meant much to him.” Dilly thought she heard a quaver in Violet’s voice, though her sister did not move even a hand. But Aunt Susan began to cry and, catching sight of the child, sent her back to Mackie.
One season followed another. Dilly had a governess now, though Mackie still ruled her life. She was growing up, Rosamond and Lucy had been packed away, and she had lessons, not only from books but also in dancing, manners, and how to act in company.
Violet did not come home often. Lord Ridgley had a post in the government, and the couple lived in London where, Dilly was told, her sister entertained a great deal and was considered a fine hostess. No one ever mentioned Chris, and there was no visiting between the Manor and the Hall. Sometimes, though, Dilly saw Clarissa out riding in the carriage. The young woman looked away quickly on such occasions, for there was something in that gaunt, sharp-featured face which made her shiver, though she never knew why.
Dilly herself rode along the paths, but she kept away from those which were close to the Hall. Then she met Clement. For a moment, when she first saw him, she had been startled — he looked so much like Chris, only he was young. Clement was a soldier, too, but only a captain. He was also a “Sir,” because Chris had died and he was Chris’s brother’s son. He had come to spend his leave at the Hall because his Aunt Clarissa wished it. Dilly heard Mackie and Miss Johnson, her governess, talking, and Mackie declaring that Miss Clarissa was “fair daft” about Clement, even as she had been about her brother.
“Never wanted to share that one.” Mackie put down the petticoat she was hemming. “She tried to keep him away from Miss Violet, only he had a will of his own. But I have always thought” — she hesitated before she continued — “that she had a hand in breaking that engagement. Miss Violet — it was like she had been somehow witched. She stood out against all of us, saying she never wanted to see him again. It was a pity —” Mackie shook her head.
Though there was no visiting between the Manor and the Hall, the girl did meet Clement, and in the most proper way. She had ridden to the vicarage with some special herb receipts Mackie had promised Mrs. Trevor, and Clement was walking in the garden with Mr. Trevor, who came forward at once to greet her and introduce his visitor.
Dilly felt an odd breathless sensation when she looked into his gray eyes. Chris’s eyes had been blue, but Clement still seemed so much like his uncle that she almost called him Chris. He was very polite and asked if he might accompany her when she left. She had John, the groom, with her, so it was indeed proper, and she had not the least desire to say no.
They met again and again in the weeks which followed. The young woman always had John with her, and she felt there was no harm in doing this. Somewhat to her surprise, Clement never mentioned the past, Violet, or Chris, and she wondered if he knew about what had happened more than a dozen years ago.
At length, greatly daring, she invited him to tea. When she admitted to Aunt Susan what she had done, her aunt looked shocked, and Dilly had to hurry on to explain that the couple had been properly introduced by the vicar.
“Captain Hale never speaks of Violet or Chris,” she said quickly. “Perhaps he does not even know.”
“He must.” Aunt Susan sounded almost grim. “But, since you have been forward enough to ask him, he will be our guest. It is a pity that your father is in London — I do not like this situation in the least.”
The tea, however, was pleasant; Clement was most attentive to Aunt Susan, and Dilly could see that he was winning at least her approval. Nor was that their last meeting at the Manor.
When Papa returned, Dilly was summoned to the library — a fearsome place in which explanations of behavior were always demanded and punishments announced. By now, though, the girl was so sure she had done right that her shivers as she entered were but slight ones.
“What’s this your aunt tells me about young Hale?” Her father was plainly not at his most yielding. “I wonder that one of his family comes near to this house!” He slamme
d his hand flat on the desk so hard that one of the pens jumped out of its holder.
“He — he never mentions Violet — or Chris.” Dilly summoned her courage. “He has been most proper — Aunt Susan will tell you.”
Papa just sat staring at her. “Hale’s a good enough youngster,” he said at last, “but why —” He stopped short.
“Papa —” The girl decided to risk all upon one throw. “The fête in the garden next week — may we send him an invitation?”
Again her father did not answer at once. “Well, that can do no harm, I suppose, though I think perhaps Miss Clarissa will arrange matters so that he does not come. She is a very bitter woman, Dilly. If you continue to see this young man, she may make trouble for you. She never wanted Chris to marry — they were twins, and she was fiercely jealous of Violet. I have always wondered ...” He shook his head as though trying to dismiss some unpleasant thought. “Just be careful, child. You’re not as quick-spoken as your sister; see you keep on in that way and guard your tongue.
The fête was held, and even Papa unbent when Aunt Susan introduced Clement to him. Nor did he ever give any more warnings during the long summer days when Dilly felt she was caught up in a dream. Then came the time when the Captain found her alone in the rose garden and asked if he might speak to her father about an engagement. That was the dream come true!
There would not be a ball this time — Aunt Susan said something about tempting Providence — but instead only a gathering of friends at dinner when the momentous announcement was to be made. To her aunt’s obvious surprise, the invitation sent in courtesy to Miss Hale was actually answered in the affirmative.
On that afternoon, Dilly wandered into the old schoolroom. Though it was kept in general order by the housemaids, no one came here much anymore. The young woman opened the chest drawer and looked in at Rosamond and Lucy. The sight of them made her think of that long-ago day in the garden and, on impulse, she went to her hiding place.