“Who are the Rus?” Falke asked.
“They were the people later called Vikings. Most emigrated east to become Russians, among other people.”
“I had no idea,” Ron said.
Harper cleared his throat, clearly impatient to read out the lineage. Ron, Falke, and Ava crowded closer to look at the page.
“Falcon, born 533, and he died in 615. I had the Devil’s own time parsing the Roman numerals in the way they wrote it back then when I was transcribing this,” Harper noted. “Stephen, born 539, died 585.” Below it, he read, “Arianrhod born 541, died…unknown.”
“The year 582.”
“Forty years was a good run for that time,” Harper said.
Ava nodded, letting him accept the lie. In point of fact, the Sisterhood’s records indicated Arianrhod lived to the ancient age of 110. All of her lines were extremely long-lived, but certain information was not to be shared outside the Inner Circle.
He flipped slowly to the end of the book, so the others could see the long lines of names and dates of the ancient family line.
“I read a genealogy the Sisterhood compiled before I came here. You have a very complex genetic history,” Ava said.
“Indeed,” Harper said. “My forbearers were in the shipping industry between the sixteenth and nineteenth centuries. Those heirs chose women they met on their voyages.”
“Like where?” Falke asked.
“You don’t know your heritage?” Ava asked him.
“I was waiting to tell Falke about his lineage in four years, when he was initiated,” Harper explained.
“I wasn’t told until then,” Ron says.
Harper said to Falke, “One fellow married a healer from Peru. Another wed an Innu lady from Newfoundland. One Drunemeton married an Aboriginal girl in Tasmania; another brought home a Tagalong bride. Over the last 350 years, Drunemetons have taken to wife women from Northern Africa to the Pacific Islands.”
“Is that why you made that face at Lord Beach when he said you and he were the last of the ‘pure Britons’?” Falke asked.
“Bigoted ass,” Harper said, shaking his head. “In this day and age where a simple DNA test proves no one is a pure anything, how he can assert such nonsense…”
“Lord Steadbye, what about your family?” Falke asked, breaking off Harper’s no-doubt well-worn angry rant.
Ron knitted his fingers over his crossed legs. “As you know, my mother Sibusisiwe—called Sibbie—was a physician in Harere, Zimbabwe, when my father met her. She was of the Ndebele people. Throughout our history, most of the men in my family served in the military, so they tended to take wives where they were deployed. It started with Stephen, Arthur’s son: He brought home a wife from Anatolia—what we now call Turkey. Steadbyes have taken brides from Rhodesia, India, Egypt, Morocco, Lebanon—just to name a few.”
Falke asked, “Is your lineage as diverse, Ava?”
“My own bloodline is liberally filled with Mongol, Persian, and genes from all over Asia.”
“We’re a complicated lot in this room,” Ron chuckled.
Ava realized that Harper hasn’t said anything. He just sat staring at the last page in his family book.
“Harper?”
He rubbed the scar on his face. Harper didn’t—actually couldn’t—read the entries aloud.
Ava went around and stood beside him so she could see the books. Falke followed her. She read aloud: “Peregrine Rónán, born 29 March, 1956, married Ellen Gardener 20 May, 1981.” Then, in a different handwriting and ink: “Died 7 June, 2023.”
“Hey,” Falke says. “I just realized: Falke, Talon, Peregrine, Eagle…Merlin!”
Harper smiled appreciatively. “Smart of you to spot that, son. It’s true. All the heirs of Merlin are commanded to name the male heirs after raptors—birds of prey—or their parts, such as Talon. The name Merlin, is of course, the name of a kind of falcon. After him, no one has been called Merlin, as that would rather give things away.”
“Brilliant,” the boy said with a proud grin.
Ava continued reading under Peregrine’s entry: “10 March 1987, Talon Ea born.” In a different ink: “Married Serena Webster-Rhys, 1 May 2013.”
Harper said, “On my eighteenth birthday, I was initiated as the latest heir of Merlin. Father took off the wooden necklace and laid it about my neck. He gave me the staff and the ring. I trembled. The weight of it seemed almost too much.”
“Were you there, Lord Steadbye?” Falke asked.
“No. I was too young yet,” Ron said.
Harper indicated Ava should continue reading the lineage. To the side of his name were his brothers: “Rhys Tybee, born 29 August 1990, died 14 September 2014; Samuel Isaac, born 16 January 1993, died 19 January 2016.”
Harper turned away. Falke looked at the floor. Ava realized they never spoke of Rhys’ and Samuel’s deaths.
Beneath Talon-Harper’s name, Ava read out, “Falke Emyrs, born 22 March 2014.”
“Best day of my life, day you were born,” Harper said.
Falke looked pleased, but a blush crept up his neck.
To the side was “Freya Etain, born 2 July 2025. Died 26 July 2027.”
No one said anything, and silence like a sodden blanket settled into the room. Poor little Freya. She hardly had a chance at life. Falke sagged beside Ava. He said nothing, but it was evident the death of his mother and sister still pained him.
Harper seemed deflated, too. He closed the Merlin lineage book with a final snap. “Well, let’s look at Ron’s line, shall we?” he said. He opened up the other leather volume. “Herein, the line of Arthur, King of All Britain, and Anya, a priestess of the Rus,” he read. “And the first entry is for Stephen, with Falcon and Arianrhod noted.”
He flipped to the back of the book a little faster. Harper stopped when he got to Ron’s direct family.
“Your line isn’t named after anything, is it?” Falke asked.
“No,” Ron says, “However, Arthur’s heirs after Stephen must have names that begin with an A and can’t be named Arthur. Just as with your lineage, we do this to keep continuity.”
“The Steadbyes’ role throughout the ages has been military service, positions as barristers or advisors to the court,” Harper explained to his son.
Ava read out: “Aegeus Kian Adair, born 2 April 1962, married Sibusisiwe Thokoza 15 February 1986; died 13 April 2024.”
Ron sighed deeply.
“Major General Gus Steadbye was a fine man and a much-decorated warrior,” Harper said. “He also had quite a way with puns. My favorite ever was, ‘Is there anything worn under the kilt? No, everything’s in perfect working order!’”
The men roared together. Ava had no great fondness for puns, and simply watched as the men swapped a few more of Major Gus’ bon mots, chortling at each one.
Just three short years after Ron’s amazing initiation, wherein was heard the voice of the Goddess, Major General Steadbye was killed in a training accident when a recruit mistook a live grenade for a dummy. After her talk with the Goddess that afternoon, Ava knew that what had been assumed to be a rookie soldier’s mistake was instead something more sinister.
Regaining his composure, Harper continued with the name that was most important: “Auberon Taryn Paden, born 27 March, 1996.” There were no brothers or sisters listed.
Ron enlisted in the Army a year after his initiation. The case against his entry into military service was waged in this very office. Aunt Chessie stood in the drawing room above, from which generations of the Sisterhood “listened in” psychically to the doings of the Merlin and Arthur families, and heard the arguments for and against—with Ron persuading the others it was the duty of the heir of King Arthur to serve in the military.
Ron finished after his two-year stint in Uzbekistan with the Royal Regiment of Fusiliers, First Battalion, rising to the rank of Lieutenant. The squad was in over twenty skirmishes, with only one major firefight, for which he earned a Conspicuous Gallantry Cross. Obv
iously, he’d been watched over by the Goddess. The military tried very hard to get him to stay, but Ron felt he should be home helping his mother, Sibbie, run the house and farms. She died the previous year.
“Auberon? Seriously?” Falke asked with a snicker.
“Oh, it gets better. Auberon—or Oberon—was the King of the Fairies,” Ron replied with a grin.
Falke laughed outright.
Chapter Fourteen
After their merriment subsided, an expectant silence settled over the room. Butterflies erupted in Ava’s stomach, and the back of her knees were suddenly damp with sweat. “Thank you for showing me this and sharing your stories with me. I feel it’s now time to reveal all of my purpose here.”
“About bloody time,” Harper said, leaning back in his chair hard enough to make it creak.
Ron folded his arms and studied her. He didn’t have to say anything; Ava knew he’d been waiting for her to explain herself. Falke was all attention. She found his interest in her somewhat unnerving.
Ava took a deep breath and plunged into it. “Bear with me, as I shall make this as short and clear as I may:
“We know that Mother Anya planned to have Arianrhod start her own line, safely away from the turmoil she saw coming for Britain. If you recall your history, after King Arthur’s death, the country was divided into three kingdoms for many years. There were invasions, upheavals and all manner of problems. Anya wanted what we might call insurance in case the Goddess’ plan fell apart with the male heirs.
“Because of her decision, we have the Daughters of Arianrhod, of which I am High Priestess, as I told you yesterday. We are the women who guard the Goddess cult, a practice which largely died out in Britain shortly after Anya passed away, suppressed by intolerant Christian priests.
“The Sisterhood was commanded to assist the heirs of Arthur and Merlin in bringing about the healing of Britain after The Time Foretold—which we are now in. This I have done. This I will do, no matter the personal cost. I’m not lying to you when I say I don’t know just how I’m to be of service to you. I’m fairly certain helping to locate the Oathstone was but a minor issue. Anya saw that there was to be some threat to you, but she didn’t say what. Her daughter, Arianrhod, told us to prepare for this time, but not what I must do.
“But the restoration of the heirs isn’t the Sisterhood’s main mission. The purpose of the Daughters of Arianrhod is to re-establish the Goddessian religion back into the world. We’ve achieved that primarily by weaving the tenets of the Sisterhood into existing religions. The loose beliefs called “New Age” are a creation of the Sisterhood. The rise of this creed worldwide is our chief triumph. You already see it in every country: There’s an increased acceptance for ‘gentle power.’ There are more people speaking out about the interconnectedness of all beings, all things.”
Harper cleared his throat. “Is the restoration of Goddess worship the final aim of the Sisterhood?”
Ava had to smile. Harper was beginning to glimpse there was a path larger than she had let on. “Once the Goddess worship is re-established, there will be a new age of peace. This will allow us to take humanity to its next evolutionary step―the stars themselves.”
Ron made a noise somewhere between choking and a laugh.
“What did you think? That you were to be king over a new Imperial Britain? A new capitalist empire? That’s not the Goddess’ way. I suspect it’s not actually your way, either.”
There was a long silence. The three men stared at her, their thoughts loud:
Is she nuts? Falke thought.
Harper’s thoughts were more practical: I don’t even know how to deal with this. What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to verify this—and if it’s true, how do I assist in this aim?
To the Stars? wondered Ron. I’m not even sure I can get what’s left of Britain running!
“Now that I’ve explained what my overall aims are, let me get more specific. As Harper knows, but Ron and Falke don’t, I was called to Anya’s Grove this afternoon.”
“To the Grove? You were called? Do you hear the Goddess all the time?” Falke asked.
“Less than you might expect from a High Priestess. But please let me tell you what She said because, quite frankly, it will change you and your perspective about these matters in ways that I’m still having trouble coping with.”
Ron looked puzzled.
Harper took a large swig of Scotch to prepare himself.
“First, to ensure that Ron takes me entirely seriously in this, Harper, will you confirm that you saw me in the Grove?”
He placed his glass in front of him, looked into its amber depths, and said: “I followed Ava to the Grove after getting a strong feeling that I should be present, but not enter, the Sacred Circle. There I saw Ava about twenty feet in the air in a shaft of golden sunlight. The trees were moving, as if in a dance. There was a faint music―I can’t say what it was. Ava stayed in the air for some time before she was gently placed back on her feet.”
Ron stared, as if seeing Ava for the first time.
Falke was goggle-eyed, mouth agape.
“Thank you, Harper,” Ava said. “What the Goddess told me is that we are not just the descendants of our progenitors. We are, in fact, the souls of Anya, Merlin, and King Arthur, returned.”
“What!” Ron gasped.
Harper simply grasped the edge of the desk, as if afraid he might suddenly fly off into space.
“That’s…weird,” Falke said.
“And although she didn’t make mention of it, Falke, I believe you are Falcon, Anya’s son by Merlin. That’s why we dreamed of each other.”
“So you were lying when you said you didn’t,” Falke said a little defiantly.
Ron broke in: “Do you expect me to believe that somehow I’m King Arthur himself? Because I have to tell you, of all the crazy things I’ve been told, this is simply not creditable!”
“I think she’s telling us the truth, Ron,” Harper said quietly. “Druids have long believed that souls return over and over to experience new things necessary for the education and growth of that being. I’ve been aware that my soul is old, but I would have sworn that Father was Merlin.”
“We are the souls of the people who started this line. The Goddess told me this. She seemed to think it odd we hadn’t already figured it out.”
“But there’s more you have to tell us, isn’t there?” Harper said.
“Yes, and it’s very disturbing.” Ava appreciated that he hadn’t pressed her too hard to divulge everything until now. “Falke, as your father already knows, last night, when Ron and I were out on the road, a woman tried to kill us by driving her car into us.”
“What!” Falke exclaimed.
Ava explained what happened. “I’ve spoken to the Sisterhood, and they believe the tattoo I thought was moving belongs to a group called the Cult of Hela. This group, well, they are very not-nice people. The Goddess told me today they are in fact women who worship and do the bidding of Morgaine, who is out to harm each of us.”
“Morgaine?” Ron said. “I thought she would only come when called by the Oathstone?”
“She’s broken through, and she hates us to an astonishing degree.”
“Enough to kill us?” Harper asked.
“Morgaine disliked Anya intensely. But I think being stuck in Avalon for nearly 1,500 years waiting to be summoned has made her unbelievably full of hate.” Ava’s heart was beating fast. Rivers of sweat were pouring down her back. She was nauseous and trying not to pant.
Staycalmstaycalmstaycalm.
It doesn’t matter how I feel. I have to tell them.
But she knew when she did, it would make what had happened all the more real, and it terrified her. Ava had a sip of the Scotch. It didn’t help and instead, made her vision a little blurry. “The Goddess said She’s been able to protect us from direct attack, but that the Cult of Hela is behind almost all the deaths of our loved ones.”
Harper went sheet-whit
e. “What are you saying?” he whispered.
“They made your car go off the cliff, Harper. The Goddess saved you, but couldn’t save your wife and child.” Ava closed her eyes, unwilling to see how her words were making him suffer. “Further, I believe they were behind the deaths of your brothers and your father, although I have no proof and can’t say how they did it.”
Ava reopened her eyes just as Harper placed his hands over his face and moaned. Falke went over and put his hand on his father’s shoulder.
“My father and mother?” Ron asked, his voice shaking.
Ava paused, searching the Sight. “Your father, yes. I’m not certain about your mother.”
“Did...did you lose anyone?” Falke asked.
Harper slowly dropped his hands from his face. He looked as bad as Ava felt.
“My father died in an unexplained plane crash in the Sahara. My mother was killed in a mysterious elevator disaster. My...boyfriend died in a climbing accident.” Staycalmstaycalmstaycalm. “The Cult of Hela has been stalking us, and all of our families, back to the beginning.”
“To what purpose?” Ron demanded.
“To make us lose hope. To demoralize us and make us afraid to fulfill our destinies.”
“Well, it hasn’t worked,” Ron said, his mouth set in a grim line. “Now, I’m just angry.”
Harper whispered, “I haven’t performed the tasks required of me. I was too... disheartened. It was working.”
Ava couldn’t tell them how nearly Morgaine succeeded with her. But she was beginning to have a feeling. Yes, I’m becoming angry at Morgaine. I really need time alone to process all this. But there’s this to finish. “The Goddess told me that Morgaine’s priestesses will continue to attack, and for some reason, may even succeed in harming us at this point. She thinks,” Harper’s eyebrow shot up at the qualification, “that Harper and I are strong enough to fend them off. She warned us to be alert.”
“You mean only psychic means will defeat them?” Ron asked.
Ava consulted the Sight, but nothing was clear. “Maybe. I don’t know. But here’s the worst news. The Goddess also cautioned that Morgaine will try and defeat us when we attempt to heal Britain.”
The Midsummer Wife (The Heirs to Camelot Book 1) Page 13