Beneath the Hallowed Hill
Page 36
Cagliostro dropped the knife with a clatter on the stone floor of the cavern.
“What have you brought me, my love? You rode out only this morning, but I have missed you sorely.”
Gwyn smiled at her as if this weren’t quite true.
“My love,” said Gwythr, who had long ago named himself Alexander Cagliostro as he searched for a worthy name. Tears streamed from his eyes. “It seems much longer than a day.” He walked toward her, touched her hand, and the transformation was complete. The loss, the confusion, time itself fell from him. He shook his head and his tears turned to laughter. “It seems more like an age.”
Gwyn reached a hand out to her. “Blodeuwedd,” he cried, the yearning thick in his voice, but she had eyes now only for his brother.
Gwythr turned to him and said, “Now is my time to rule.”
Gwyn’s face darkened dangerously, but the couple walked away, their hands intertwined, their faces close as they whispered to each other. Gwyn watched them go.
“What’s happening?” Anne whispered. “Who’s Blodeuwedd?”
“The Maiden of Flowers. There is a fairytale that on May Day, two brothers fight for her love,” Michael said.
“A faerytale?” Anne smiled. “Then it must be true.”
Blodeuwedd and Gwythr disappeared beneath the trees. Gwyn gave himself a shake. After a moment, his face relaxed and he turned his attention to his guests. “Caitir, Lady of Avalon.”
Caitir stepped forward. Gwyn stretched out his hand and she seemed to know what to do. She took a necklace from around her neck and placed it in his palm. He closed his hand over it for a moment, then opened his fingers. The crystal, all-aglow with rainbows, gradually cleared. She placed it around her neck again.
“This key will see you through the dark times to come. Call upon me and I will aid you.”
Caitir dipped her knee to him, then stood straight.
Gwyn surveyed them all. “Now you must all return to your own times.”
“I have no home to go to, my Lord,” Govannan said.
“I have just left my death bed,” Megan added.
Gwyn surveyed the two for a moment. “You may stay with us, then.”
“My Lord, how could we accept such an honor?” Govannan argued.
“I insist,” the Faery Lord said.
They bowed their heads, then turned to their daughter, whose eyes shone. Govannan embraced her. After a moment, Caitir pulled back and he held her at arm’s length. “You are the light of my heart,” he said. “If only I could go back and see you born, be a father to you.”
Caitir shook her head. “It is well that I have met you, and enough that you two can finally be together.”
Megan took her hands. “Keep the stone and the story. Pass it on. Keep the teachings of Avalon.”
Tears of joy sparkled in Caitir’s eyes. “I will, Mother.”
“Remember, we are just here, inside the Tor.”
Caitir turned to walk out of the Crystal Cave, but paused when she passed Anne. They both touched the crystal around their necks, as if one looked in a mirror and the other faithfully reflected her.
Anne smiled. “You will succeed.”
Caitir frowned, confused for a moment.
“Your vigil through the darkness,” Anne explained. “You will bring us to the light.”
Caitir reached out and touched her face. “Thank you, daughter.” She walked out of the cavern.
Gwyn turned to Garth. “You have earned a boon. What would you ask?”
Garth spread his hands. “You know my heart, Lord.”
Gwyn’s laugh warmed the cavern. “It is done, then.” He stepped aside, a mischievous smile on his face, and behind him stood figures of light. One stepped forward; her features formed to become a tall, willowy woman with reddish blond hair.
“Cynthia,” Garth cried. He ran to her, picked her up in his arms, and twirled her around. “I thought I lost you.”
“How could you lose me?” Cynthia said. He silenced her with his lips.
Gwyn turned to Anne and Michael and held out his hand. They slid their crystals from around their necks and laid them on his palm, side by side. He closed his fingers over the stones and studied Anne and Michael carefully. “You two have more to do before the light is assured.” He returned their crystal keys.
“Thank you, my Lord,” Michael said.
Anne dipped her head; her family taught her how to treat royalty.
“There is one more thing.” Gwyn smiled at them, his expression playful. “On Samhain, we hunt the souls of the dead, but on this night, the eve of Beltane, souls wishing to be born come through our realm.” He placed his hand over Anne’s womb. “A great being is coming to you.”
“Oh,” Anne murmured. The reason for her nausea and fatigue now became clear.
“You mean…?” Michael began.
“Guard this one well,” Gwyn said. The great being turned and walked across the green lawn with Garth and Cynthia.
In the distance, close to the forest, stood another form. He waved and his face suddenly became clear.
“Thomas?” Anne ran forward, but a look from Gwyn told her that she was not invited to enter faeryland.
“Remember,” Thomas called, “we are just here, inside the Tor.”
With a snap, the fae and their guests disappeared. Anne and Michael stood in the dark womb of the Tor, holding each other. It was dark except for the nine Sentinel Stones that stood around the perimeter, glowing faintly.
“A baby,” Michael breathed into her ear.
Anne nodded. “Do you think these sentinels are safe?”
Michael nuzzled against her. “They’ve been here for eleven thousand years. I’d say so.”
“Good. Let’s go home.”
They walked out of the cavern into the tunnel where more light reached, from what source they couldn’t tell. They found the stairs, climbed up, and went through the rounded oak door into the cellar. The door closed behind them and locked itself.
Anne regarded it for a long moment. “I guess we can’t sell this house.”
“No kidding,” Michael said.
Outside, the sun had risen. Suddenly ravenous, they walked into town and bought pasties at Burns the Bread. They went down to the end of High Street and bought coffee, then sat outside at a table, watching the perfectly ordinary events of a Glastonbury morning unfold around them. A man watered the flower boxes hanging from the second stories of the buildings with a long hose. Pigeons pecked at their feet. Tourists began to mill about. Another store opened its doors.
They returned home to a great jubilation. White Spring gushed, and the pipe from Red Spring, just across the small lane, joined with her mate. Red and white water poured forth for all to drink. People went back to their houses and returned with jugs to fill. Life was returning to normal.
That evening, when the Beltane Fire burned bright in a tall pyramid on top of the Tor and the celebrants danced around it, Michael and Anne walked down to White Spring and watched the water gush from the pipes.
Anne turned to him. “That was some vacation.”
He laughed and took her in his arms.
About the Author:
Born in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, Theresa Crater grew up in the middle of the civil rights movement, an experience that left her believing anything is possible. Theresa has published an Egyptian contemporary fantasy, Under the Stone Paw, and several short stories, the most recent of which is Bringing the Waters in The Aether Age: Helios. She also published poetry and a baker’s dozen of literary criticism.
Theresa currently teaches writing and literature in Denver, but her first serious job was teaching meditation. Since then, she has poked around western metaphysics, Qabalah, various forms of shamanism,
Wicca, and Reiki. She has also been reading about mythology from many cultures. Theresa’s fiction blends myth, metaphysics, and just plain good old adventure.
Theresa lives with her husband, Stephen, an independent Egyptologist who published three books and leads tours to Egypt, and their two cats, in Boulder, Colorado, surrounded by the Rocky Mountains and their wildlife.
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