The main attraction, of course, was the cliff face a thousand feet below the hut. The rock face was cold, but snow and ice-free. It was thrilling to climb such a magnificent mountain. They were both more exhilarated than tired, as they stretched themselves along hand-holds and ropes above the steep drop. And maybe that was why they didn’t notice their equipment wasn’t doing as well.
Ava remembered that terrible moment so clearly. Helmut swung out to put the next crampon into a likely-looking crack. He attached it to the rock face and shifted his weight to it. That’s when she heard a SNAP! and a whipping sound.
The rope came close to Ava’s face, almost lashing her cheek. “What was—?”
She saw Helmut’s eyes go wide—a sight that had haunted her dreams ever after. Then his mouth opened wide in a horrible shriek, and he was gone, spinning and tumbling through the air, to land in a soundless heap on a rock shelf in the crevasse.
Ava had no time to react. The rope uncoiled from its moorings and suddenly, she was upside down, then sideways, tangled in the lines like a marionette in the hands of a spoiled child. She hung there, head downward, one leg straight up, the other painfully drawn backward. One arm was tied at her side, the other hanging uselessly. From the agony in her shoulder, she knew she’d dislocated it, rendering her free hand useless. She was stuck there for five hours until the rescue crew could climb up and cut her loose. She had only the uncanny, moaning wind and the sight of her dead lover for company. After mentally letting the Sisterhood know her condition and what happened, she blocked them out, too utterly in despair to cope with their messages of caring concern.
Ava’s injuries were minor, and she was out of the hospital in a day. But she spent six months in psychic mental healing and formal counseling. “Survivor’s guilt” was the name they’d put on it. The nightmares, panic attacks, and agoraphobia were ascribed to her guilt and helplessness in that moment.
When she realized they would keep trying to “fix” her, Ava told the healers she felt strong and anxiety-free. No amount of Chakra clearing and sage burning was going to change how she felt about the world. She knew there were secret talks about the possible need to find a replacement for her—the damaged High Priestess—so Ava declared herself healed and moved on. No one, save Ifijioku, seemed to have suspected that nothing changed at all, except that she hid her instability from them.
Where once Ava had been confident—maybe too much so—now she could barely move forward. She couldn’t stop questioning everything she did. And Goddess help me, I cannot bear to be outside for fear something will happen.
The worst part was that Ava had planned to break up with Helmut after the climb. She knew he loved her, but she just didn’t—couldn’t—love him in return. And that seemed to make the pain of having watched him die worse.
So much worse.
Ava shoved the painful memory to the side. She couldn’t lay there on Ron’s bathroom floor forever. What if he found her like this?
Slowly, slowly, she got some control.
The headache stayed around for fun, but the shakes and the sweats stopped. The ceiling still threatened to suck her off into the void, but she was rather used to that.
She went to the sink and splashed cold water on her face, then did a quick wipe-down. She was going to need a serious shower in the morning.
She brushed her teeth using his paste and her finger and went back to bed.
“You all right?” Ron asked sleepily, as she curled up next to him.
“Just had to pee,” she said, snuggling in, feeling calmer in his arms.
Chapter Nine
Five Days Until Midsummer
Ava was in the Rolls, headed for Drunemeton. She was already exhausted with the day, and it had hardly begun.
Ron and she awoke quite early and made love again. Afterward, they got up and discovered the electricity had come on sometime in the night. It was good having lights that came on at the touch of a button—and the furnace worked!
They rose early because Ron thought it likely the constable would come around to question him about the accident, and he wanted to go out and help the refugees build a better dining shelter before the police got there. Ava wanted to get some things done before they went to Drunemeton House, so she needed to get back to Aunt Chessie’s to change. She sent a message to Graham, asking him to pick her up at his earliest convenience.
After her luxuriously hot shower, Ron took Ava into his arms. Kissing her thoroughly, he asked, “Would you consider moving your things over here?”
Ava hesitated. Part of her never wanted to spend another minute away from Ron, but she also knew there would be repercussions from what she’d done. Then she looked into his eyes, the color of the sea on a warm summer day, and simply melted. “I’ll pack my things and take them to Drunemeton.”
“Good,” he said with a broad grin, and she could feel his joy.
They finished dressing and went downstairs for breakfast. Presently, the Rolls arrived. She gave Ron a quick kiss and went out. Retrieving Lanna’s charming individually refrigerated bento boxes from the wrecked Jaguar, she hopped into the big old limousine.
At the house, she climbed the creaking stairs up to the attic room Chessie had lent her while she stayed in Glastonbury. It was chilly and damp in the cramped space. The ceiling echoed the sharply peaked slate roof, leaving little room for six-foot-tall Ava to stand upright.
Ava changed out of her still-damp dress. Trying the electric lights, she discovered the power wasn’t yet back on in the village. She attempted to light the kerosene lamp with the matches Aunt Chessie had given her, but the ancient sulfur heads crumbled from the damp. Producing a lavender flame from her mind—the very first expression of psychic power a priestess-initiate learns—she lit the oil lamp. She trimmed the wick as Chessie had shown her earlier. It smoked a bit and smelled unpleasant, but it gave a warm golden glow to the room.
Ava turned on her phonestick, unfurled the screen, and saw that the Sisterhood had left several messages from late the previous night until just a few minutes earlier. There were sixteen requisitions to be approved and signed, and three reports that her assistant, Irkalla Al-Hamdan, noted had to be read and remarked upon. “Otherwise,” Irkalla texted, “I’ve held all other business until the successful completion of your mission.”
Ava hoped there was a successful completion.
Interspersed in the humdrum of her administrative duties were repeated messages in text and voice from the Chief Healer. Taking a deep breath, she made the call.
Her sister’s face came into view; her black hair was braided and wound around the top of her head like a crown. Her ice-blue eyes were narrowed, which meant she was quite cross. “Where’ve you been?” exclaimed Hébé in Latvian.
Ava spread her hands. “Occupied.”
“Goddess! Your mind-journal set this place on fire! Why didn’t you contact us right away last night?”
Ava frowned, irritated at Hébé’s questioning. As the Chief Healer of the Order, she had a right to demand answers, but her tone was rude and her mental attitude was demeaning and aggressive. Ava tossed her rain-ruined dress into the bottom of the travel carryall. “Making love, if it’s all right with you.”
“With the wrong man!” Hébé shouted. “Are you completely unable to follow the plan as the Sisterhood Leadership discussed it?”
Ava tried to keep calm, but it was difficult. “There’s more going on than what the plan, as we understand it, calls for.”
“So you just decided to throw it all out and do things your way, hm? Without consulting the Sisterhood―without one thought to the implications if you continue with this particular man!” she snapped.
“I did not make a choice...”
“You never do!” Hébé yelled. “You just run off and do things! And the rest of us are left to clean up your mess!”
“That is enough!” Ava said in her priestess voice. “Don’t dare tell me what I should and should not do.”
&nb
sp; Hébé paled. “I’m sorry. I…”
Ava heard a familiar West African accent. The image shifted, and the well-lined face of Ifijioku came into view. The old woman bowed deeply. “Good morning, Lady,” she said in English.
Ava bowed. “Good morning, Sister-Friend.” She knew Ifijioku’s careful propriety was meant to introduce calm back into the conversation. No one could make Ava madder, faster, than Hébé. “How are you?”
“I am as well as these old bones allow,” Ifijioku said. “And you are well and unharmed?”
Ava stretched all her muscles in a subtle yoga move. She was sore in several places, but it was hard to tell if it was from the accident or the bedplay. “I am. I’m very concerned about a number of things that took place last night, as I imagine the Sisterhood is.”
“Yes. Of utmost concern to me is this attack by someone from the Cult of Hela,” Ifijioku said.
“Is it, in fact, a group of Hela-worshippers?” Ava started folding clothes and putting them in the bag. Slowly, her pulse returned to normal.
“We have run into them before,” Ifijioku said. “They’ve existed for about fifty years, based in Bristol. I can find no record of them prior to that. As you are well aware, worship of Hela is simply the veneration of the Crone Goddess. However, these women seem to have constructed a death-cult using this ancient aspect of the Goddess. Their practices are quite negative.”
Ava paused, considering. What Ifijioku was saying in her most cautious way was that these were fanatics using a deity as an excuse to do violence, even kill. “Any idea why they might want to hurt me or Lord Steadbye?”
Ifijioku shook her head, looking troubled. “That we do not, alarms me.”
“Please put everyone you can into finding answers. If there’s one attack, there may be others planned. Things are delicate enough in trying to make the Goddess’ plan a reality.”
“Would you please explain what has occurred between you and the Arthur-heir?” Ifijioku asked.
Ava sat down on the old bed, and it squealed in protest. She had a momentary and amusing daydream of Ron and her making love with the squeaking springs in chorus and suppressed a smile. “It’s a soul connection, Sister. Harper is attracted to me, to be sure. But Ron…” Ava blew out a breath. “There’s an intense psycho-emotive-kinetic bond between Ron and me like nothing I’ve ever felt or even heard about. It was quite immediate and became more and more intense the longer we were in proximity. I feel as if I crave him to the roots of my soul—a very odd sensation, to be sure. Touching him sets off electrical sensations on an order of magnitude I’ve never heard of. And after we made love, there was something that happened.”
Ifijioku tilted her head, her salt-and-pepper eyebrows drew together. “Please tell me.”
“There was a strange light in his eyes. His voice and speech patterns changed. He demanded that we not be separated again.” Ava shivered pleasantly, recalling it. “And then, it happened to me, as well. Ifijioku, is it possible I’m Anya reborn? That Ron is Arthur? That Harper is Merlin?”
Ifijioku gasped. Ava heard Hébé’s intake of breath in the background. The ancient priestess composed herself and placed her long, elegant fingers in front of her face.
Ava had seen Ifijioku do this to induce a Goddess trance many times. She was the only one in the entire Sisterhood Leadership who could fall into a vision-state on demand. Ava waited impatiently. The vision couldn’t be rushed, but she didn’t have all day. She put away the small things on the bedside table while the elder searched for answers. Every few minutes, Ava looked at the image. Ifijioku was still hidden behind her fingers. Ava fidgeted around the room, cleaning up a place that wasn’t hers.
After a time, Ifijioku removed her hands. She looked, for a moment, every one of her ninety-seven years. “It is so,” she whispered.
Ava thanked her and disconnected, head swimming. She could spend the entire day with the Sisterhood discussing what it meant, but in the end, she had to synthesize the information into her thinking. Until she could come to terms with the idea that she was somehow Anya reincarnated, no amount of talk would help her resolve the issues and questions she had.
She was not sure how to get to that resolution.
Ava changed, then went down and asked Graham—who was polishing off the duck from the previous night—to take her to Drunemeton. The analog clock on the dash said 8:45 when she got in. Her thoughts went off in a different direction than the car almost immediately.
The Rolls had stopped. “Ava?” Graham was looking at her. “Honey, are you okay? We’ve been sitting here almost five minutes.”
“Oh! I’m sorry. I just have a lot on my mind.” She noticed Harper waiting in the doorway. “See you later!”
She got out and started walking to the door when she heard:
Priestess.
She stopped. The Rolls drove off. Rain dotted her head and shoulders.
Priestess.
It was coming from Anya’s Grove.
Come.
I hear. I obey. Be there in a moment, she replied, as she went into the house.
Harper moved aside to let her in. He looked at her curiously. “What is it?”
“Could I make a strange request of you?” she asked.
“Nothing’s stopped you yet.”
Ava smiled in spite of the urgency. “May I be allowed to go see Anya’s Grove?”
“It’s your heritage, too,” he said with a shrug. Then it dawned on him. “What, now? In the rain?”
“Yes, please.” She put her bags on the floor.
He studied her. “You were called.”
“Yes.”
“Let me get you an umbrella,” Harper said. He pulled out a large one from the closet. “Do you have wellies? I still have Serena’s. No idea if they’ll fit, but what you’re wearing,” he pointed at her trainers, “will melt walking out there. The grass is long and well-soaked.” He pulled out black, water-proof Wellington boots with a purple edge at the top and handed them to her.
Sitting down on a nearby chair, Ava slipped off her shoes and pulled on the wellies. The boots were way too big, but it wasn’t as if she was going to wear them for the rest of time.
Priestess, demanded the voice.
“Thanks for the boots and umbrella. I had best be going.”
“I’ll be here,” he said.
Chapter Ten
Ava went out into the rain, which didn’t seem to be coming down as hard as it had been earlier. Trudging across the field, she was well and truly out in the open, under the dark and brooding sky. She felt the agoraphobia stalking her, looming just behind her. She struggled to keep it in the back of her mind. She was going to see the Goddess and couldn’t let her anxieties have their way with her right now.
Staycalmstaycalmstaycalm.
It was funny, Harper hadn’t told her how to get to Anya’s Grove. He probably figured that since she was called, she must know the way. And she did. It would have been hard to miss, given that she was drawn to it like iron filings to a magnet.
Focus on that.
She was mucking through a semi-swamp and very grateful that Harper had urged the too-big boots on her, even if they were giving her a bit of a blister from her heel flopping around.
Focus on the heel pain.
Just up ahead, the Grove loomed darkly in front of her. Ava was scared and excited at the same time.
The agoraphobia took Ava’s momentary distraction to jump her.
It was all she could do to stand upright. She wanted to scream. She wanted to lie down in the mud, to burrow to the center of the Earth to find safety. She was panting and sweating and whimpering in a way that sounded a lot like a whipped puppy.
Oh, this is a bad one.
Ava started to sob as she dropped to her knees. She was shivering so hard, she couldn’t hold the umbrella up anymore. It felt as if she was being shaken into her component atoms and shortly, she would be hoovered up into the heavens and scattered in the clouds.
&nb
sp; At the same moment, she was sure the entire sky was a gigantic rock about to fall and crush her, squashing her so flat there would be no trace of her. She would just turn into ooze and melt into the mud.
It was too much.
There was no oxygen in the air.
She was losing her grip on reality.
Come. Now!
The Goddess’ demand made the attack vanish.
Poof.
Ava stood up, not afraid. Not even slightly shaky.
That’s a good one, she said to the Goddess. You’ll have to teach me that.
She closed the umbrella. The rain felt good on her face as she turned it up to the unthreatening sky.
Although she felt much better, there were residual effects from the attack: Her skin was covered in thick film of sweat, the remains of a sick stomach still sloshed around, and her head was all one dull ache.
But she was feeling weirdly happy.
Ava went through an old-fashioned wooden turnstile, and there she was, at Anya’s Grove. She took a deep breath and walked through the first few trees. She could feel the thrum of power, and she wasn’t even to the Circle. Her steps slowed. Viborg’s Sacred Grove was, the Sisterhood thought, older. But Anya’s Grove felt as if it held ten times more power. Her entire body tingled.
She was about to walk into the Sacred Circle, when she felt herself stopped.
Prepare.
Same rules apply here, hm?
Ava was feeling almost giddy, but she bowed and moved to comply. Sitting on a stump, she removed her clothes. She reached behind her ear and turned off the mental journal, too. It was cold, and goosebumps stood out on her skin.
She stepped in to the Circle. Just to her right, she spotted Anya’s tomb. There was a great bluestone boulder half buried in the soil. She had read that Arianrhod used one of the great monoliths from the lost Sacred Circle of Glastonbury Tor to cover Mother Anya’s burial site. Near the head of the stone, floating just above it, was a small, bright blue flame. Arianrhod used her power to create that marker over 1,461 years ago, and still it burned.
The Midsummer Wife (The Heirs to Camelot Book 1) Page 8