“Oh,” Bridget said, immediately understanding what he’d been about to say, as we all did. The chalice was in England. We needed to be here.
I leaned forward a little. “Do you know where?”
Dylan lost whatever good humor there was in his face. “No. But I know it is in England.”
“Well, then,” Sir Dagonet said, interrupting before we could question Dylan any further. “It is in England that we stay, wot, wot?”
“Despite that?” I asked, gesturing to the men with a small movement of my head.
“Despite that,” Dylan nodded.
Even Bridget nodded her head at that one. But I wasn’t happy. I understood the need to find the chalice, but if there was a witch hunt going on... A cold wind blew down my spine. I didn’t like this.
Chapter Thirty
The ground slipped closer to me then retreated once again as I gave a strong pump of my wings. It was so tempting to skim my feathers over the tops of the trees, but I wasn’t quite confident enough in my flying to do such tricks.
It was just that they looked so green and inviting. The lush forest was filled with oaks and maples, elm and chestnuts—so many grand trees, and I was above them all. They were so much nicer below me than when I was below them.
The forest gave way to a large blue lake. The color of the sky on summer’s day, the water calm and placid. I circled the lake, enjoying the fresh, sweet–smelling air that wafted up from it. Taking in a deep breath, I closed my eyes for just a moment to savor that smell. There was nothing sweeter.
I opened them again to a thunderous sound and found myself quickly approaching rougher water. Directly in front of me was the most magnificent waterfall I had ever seen. It must have been at least fifty feet of straight, falling water. The water’s spray reached out, cooling me and making my feathers sparkle in the sunlight as if covered with diamonds.
I angled up and caught a current of air to pull myself to the top. There, an ancient circle of stones reached up to the sky—their mystical foundation calling out to me. As I circled the stones, a pure white hawk joined me in my flight.
It was my friend! I recognized it at once. Warm feelings spread through me as I glided myself closer to the hawk. It, too, took a brief look over at me and moved closer so that the tips of our outstretched wings just touched.
The hawk flew a circle around me and then led me down the other side of the hill where there was a green surrounded by lovely white marble buildings. The lake curved around the land and came close to meeting with the buildings.
It was a breathtaking sight. The white buildings standing out from the brilliant green of the grass, so closely touched by the deep blue of the lake. I knew this was a happy place, a safe place. Everything within me told me so.
I followed the hawk as it circled down to the shore. My landing was not so graceful, but I regained my balance before turning to stare at the hawk—no, at the beautiful woman standing close to me.
Her bright, blue eyes crinkled into a smile, while her reddish–blond hair flowed around her face, falling all the way down her back, almost reaching to her knees. Everything about this woman moved about her as light as a breeze, from her smile to her hair, to her fluttering white dress.
“Welcome home, Scai,” the woman said, her voice deep and warm.
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. I was so overwhelmed. So many thoughts and feelings were rushing through me. Tears pricked my eyes, but they were tears of happiness—tears of such immense joy that I could barely contain them.
There was only one thing I could do, and without a moment’s hesitation I did so—I put my arms around the petite beautiful woman, lay my head on her shoulder, and began to weep, releasing all of the tensions I had held deep inside me ever since I had left my home in Tallent.
“Shhhh. It is all right, my daughter, it is all right. You are safe here.” She held me, allowing me my moment of weakness, but soon she lifted my chin so that I was forced to look at her. “Remember, no matter what, you will always be safe here. And I will always be here to welcome you home.”
“Scai. Scai!” Bridget’s voice penetrated my mind.
I fought against waking, but even as I did so, my beautiful dream began slipping away.
Bridget gave me a shake. “Scai, wake up. We need to go,” she said.
There was an urgency to her voice that forced me to open my eyes. “Go? Go where? Have we decided where we’re going?”
“No. We’re going to meet Dylan and Sir Dagonet downstairs to decide, remember?”
“Oh, yes.” I did vaguely remember saying we would do so last night, before we all retired to bed. I had been so tired at that point I could hardly make it up to the room I was sharing with Bridget. Between the two of us, we had managed somehow to get to the room, strip ourselves down to our plain white shifts, and fall into bed.
This morning, however, Bridget had already washed and dressed and was urging me to do the same. But it was so nice and warm in bed, and I’d been having the most wonderful dream. I wanted nothing more than to snuggle down and regain my lovely dream.
I let my eyes drift closed once more.
Who was that woman? Was it my mother? She had called me daughter. But somehow that didn’t seem right. And my mother was gone from this life, while this woman was most definitely alive.
She was my hawk! And all this time I had believed the hawk to be male. I almost laughed at myself. The hawk was a female—a woman who lived in the most beautiful, warm, and welcoming land...if only we could go there, we’d be safe there.
“Scai!” Bridget gave me another shake.
I groaned. “All right. All right.”
It took all of my will to get myself up. As I did so, I lost the lingering good feelings from my dream, and began to worry about what the day would bring. Since a good portion of the previous day had been spent keeping Bridget and Dylan from fighting, I really hoped this day would be better. Well, anything would be better than yesterday—attacked by animals, kidnapped, and then nearly losing all of my magical powers—no, nothing could be any worse than that.
I splashed cold water onto my face. Goose bumps sprang up all over my body, sending me scrambling into my warm woolen dress. The mornings were definitely getting colder as the year moved more firmly into autumn.
As I accompanied Bridget down the stairs, I looked surreptitiously around the taproom. What a relief: the witch hunters weren’t here this morning. I joined Sir Dagonet with an easy stomach. Dylan joined us barely a minute later, water dripping from his curls—he had taken the time to bathe. I wished I’d had that luxury as well.
“I had the most incredible dream last night,” Dylan began, accepting the tankard of ale from the serving maid.
“Really? I did too,” I said. What a funny coincidence.
“Me, too!” Bridget exclaimed. “It was beautiful, filled with lots of women in flowing white dresses. And they were all laughing and talking and feeding me the most delicious fruit I’ve ever tasted. There were some who were practicing their archery skills, and others fighting with staves. And they all lived in the loveliest white marble houses that were warm all the time. I think there must have been fires somewhere because I could feel the warmth of them, but I never saw one.”
“There were white marble houses in my dream, too, and the bluest lake I’ve ever seen,” I added, finally able to get in a word as Bridget paused to take a breath.
“Yes! A blue lake with an incredible waterfall,” Dylan interjected. “I swam through the lake. It was warm and filled with such life and beauty. There was a woman dressed in white in my dream as well.” He paused. His eyes lit up as he added, “And there was the sword. Excalibur! It was held aloft by the Lady of the Lake. She said that I would wield it one day.”
I had never seen such joy in Dylan’s eyes before. His dream must have been as vivid and wonderful as my own.
“That’s incredible. Your dream and Bridget’s were so like my own! What did she look like, the w
oman?” I asked.
Dylan thought about that for a moment and then said, “Beautiful, with long reddish–blond hair and blue eyes. Young, but not very young.”
I swallowed hard. “Yes. I saw her, too. She’s the hawk. The one who welcomed me on my journey when I set out from Tallent and then saved me from the ravens that tried to kill me in Gloucester. I knew her in my dream, only...I don’t know who she was.” I paused trying to remember. “She called me daughter.” Then, just to confirm my thoughts from earlier, I turned to look at Bridget. “Do you think she could have been our mother?”
Bridget just shook her head, though. “Mother had brown hair, like Thomas’s.”
“But then...”
“It was the Lady Morgan, don’t you know?” Sir Dagonet said, with a wistful tone to his voice that I had never heard before.
“Lady Morgan?” we repeated.
He nodded. “Morgan le Fey, the Lady of Avalon.”
“But how do you...” Dylan began.
“I don’t understand...” I started.
“You’re in love with her!” Bridget blurted out the loudest.
“What? No! I worship at her feet, but in love? Wouldn’t dare,” Sir Dagonet said, turning bright red.
Dylan laughed out loud at that, Bridget giggled, and I just couldn’t hide my amazement.
Sir Dagonet in love?
“Now you really must tell us who she is,” Dylan said.
“And why and how she’s appearing in all of our dreams,” I added.
Bridget rested her chin on her fist, her elbow on the table—ready and waiting for Sir Dagonet’s explanation.
He looked around at the three of us and turned an even deeper shade of red. “But, but you know! You know very well who she is, wot, wot?”
“Morgan Le Fey?” Bridget asked.
“The Lady of Avalon,” Dylan said, looking like he was trying to remember something. His face paled a little. “You don’t mean the Lady of Avalon. The one with whom King Arthur, er...”
“Yes! Precisely. That’s the one.” The knight slapped Dylan on the back.
Dylan sat up straighter. “But, sir, she’s...well, she was a contemporary of King Arthur’s. They had a child together.”
“Mordred. Pity that one. Not his fault, though—a tool of Lady Nimuë’s, don’t you know?” Sir Dagonet said, shaking his head.
“That was a very long time ago, sir. Why would we be dreaming of her now?”
“First Lady Nimuë, and now Morgan le Fey,” I said, thinking.
Sir Dagonet turned his now twinkling eyes on me, a brilliant smile covered his face. “Go on, Scai, wot?”
I was a little startled at his encouragement. “Oh no, I’m just saying...” but then I didn’t say anything because I was trying to make sense of it all. They were both contemporaries of King Arthur’s. As was Excalibur, of which Dylan had dreamed. There had to be a connection there.
And I couldn’t help but wonder why all three of us had had similar dreams. Were we being manipulated? Someone had to have used magic to do this, but who and why?
“How do you know the Lady of Avalon, sir?” I finally asked. “Or do you?”
Sir Dagonet fiddled a little with his tankard of ale. “Well, yes, I have had the pleasure...”
“But she’s got to be dead. I mean, King Arthur!” Bridget exclaimed.
“Just like we thought Lady Nimuë would be dead, too,” I pointed out.
“Yes. She should be. That can’t have been...” Bridget’s words petered out at the serious look that had overcome Sir Dagonet.
“Afraid it truly was, don’t you know?” he said, quietly. “And now it looks as though the Lady Morgan is trying to get in touch with the three of you as well.”
I widened my eyes. “You think it was Lady Morgan who went into our dreams? Why would she do that? Why would she try to hurt us?” That couldn’t be possible. I just wouldn’t believe it, not after the warmth and love I’d experienced in my dream last night.
“What? Lady Morgan’s not trying to hurt you. Never would. She is the most kindhearted soul, wot? She would never...No, no. But clearly, there is something important going on, or else why would she appear to all three of you? Maybe she’s trying to warn you against her sister, wot?”
“Her sister?” I asked.
“Lady Nimuë,” Sir Dagonet answered.
“Lady Nimuë is Morgan Le Fey’s sister?” Bridget asked.
“Yes. I learned about this,” Dylan said, clearly trying very hard to remember something. He began slowly, “Lady Morgan and the Lady Nimuë were sisters. Lady Morgan ruled Avalon, the island, while Lady Nimuë became the Lady of the Lake. She’s the one who created Excalibur, although Lady Morgan made its magical scabbard.”
“Its scabbard is magical, too?” I asked. I had heard of the fabled sword—who hadn’t? But I’d never heard anything about the scabbard.
“Oh, yes, anyone wearing it cannot be killed in battle.”
I raised my eyebrows. “That’s a very useful thing to have.”
“Indeed. King Arthur wore the scabbard and used Excalibur throughout his reign. It was how he reigned for so long and so successfully,” Dylan said, his enthusiasm for the topic showing through his eyes.
“Well, King Arthur was also an excellent swordsman, field commander, and king,” Sir Dagonet said. “And a good friend,” he added under his breath.
“You still haven’t told us how you know Lady Morgan, Sir Dagonet,” Bridget said, narrowing her eyes at him.
He looked up, startled. “Oh, yes, well...”
“You couldn’t have known King Arthur, sir,” Dylan said, although it almost came out more like a question.
I, and clearly Bridget and Dylan, was suddenly very curious about Sir Dagonet’s past. Could he have...? Well, but that was almost two hundred years ago that King Arthur reigned. What a ridiculous thought, I scolded myself. I nearly laughed out loud at how silly it was, thinking that Sir Dagonet could actually have known King Arthur, Nimuë, and Lady Morgan.
“Well, it’s a funny thing, you know,” the knight began.
“Sir, that was a very long time ago!” Bridget exclaimed.
Sir Dagonet sighed and lowered his eyes to the table. “Yes, a very, very long time ago.” When he looked up again, his eyes widened as he caught sight of something behind Bridget and Scai. He pushed his chair out and stood up. “Tell you about it on our way, wot, wot?”
I turned around to see three men entering the room—the same men who had sat next to us the night before. They also seemed intent on having something to eat before leaving—probably on their way to find more witches to murder. My body and mind shuddered.
Bridget and Dylan must have seen them as well, because we all got up together and followed Sir Dagonet out to the stables to retrieve his and Dylan’s horses.
“On the way where, sir?” Bridget said, running to catch up to Dylan and Sir Dagonet, who were striding ahead.
Sir Dagonet stopped, causing Bridget to nearly collide with him. “What? Why, to Avalon, of course, wot, wot?”
Chapter Thirty One
The hall had never been so colorful. The brightly colored tunics, embroidered with expensive gold and silver, were almost blinding to Father du Lac’s poor old eyes. Nimuë sighed at the peacocks strutting all around her, just as happy to be in Father du Lac’s plain brown robes. She didn’t mind a little finery every so often, but these men were as close to ridiculous as one could get.
A page of the court stomped his stick against the floor announcing the king. His Majesty, too, was dressed in his finery, outshining all of the deeply–bowing nobles in the room.
As young King Edward sat down at his place on the dais, the lords all found seats for themselves as well. Father du Lac seated himself at the farthest end of the table at which the king sat with his other advisers.
“My lords,” the king addressed the men, “it is disturbing to me that we have had to come together in this way.” And indeed, the poor boy soun
ded very sad and tired. Nimuë knew the truth of the matter, but had not expected the young king to show his weakness to his assembled lords. She was not entirely certain this was a good decision, but it was too late now.
“We had planned to face the Danes in less than a month’s time, but so far we have not the army with which to do so.” He leaned forward across the table. “Why is this?”
He paused and looked around at the now silent room.
“You, my Lord Stirling, promised me two thousand men and yet you have brought with you less than half that. Lord Barret promised three thousand and has brought two. Lord Lefevre, you also promised three thousand men and how many have you brought with you?”
“Half the number, Your Majesty,” Lord Lefevre said, almost too quietly to be heard. “But, Sire,” he spoke up quickly, “the men who swore their allegiance to me, they are deserting. There is nothing that I can do to stop them.”
Lord Barret spoke up. “It is the same with me, Your Majesty.”
“And I, Sire. The men were enthusiastic at first, but then something, and I wish I knew what it was, something is turning them against our cause,” Lord Stirling said.
Nimuë saw her chance and did not hesitate for a moment. Standing up, Father du Lac spoke loudly and clearly. “Your Majesty, I know the reason for these desertions.”
All eyes turned to him, including those of the king. Edward looked troubled, as if his trusted confessor had just betrayed him, when it was in fact just the opposite. Du Lac was going to help him, and help himself—or rather Nimuë—in the meantime.
“Sire, these men have deserted their lords for one reason and one reason only. It is as I said to you not too long ago—it is the witches, Sire. The witches are turning our young people away.”
There was laughter in the room at du Lac’s words, as well as a lot of murmuring. Clearly these noblemen did not take him seriously, but that was about to change. This time Nimuë was not going to take any chances.
Reaching inside of herself, she pulled forth a touch of magic and intertwined it with du Lac’s words. “My lords, it is the witches who are turning our young men away from what they know to be their duty. They are corrupting them. Teaching them the ways of the devil. It is the witches who are the disease at the heart of our society and they must be destroyed!” Father du Lac’s voice grew louder and more impassioned as he spoke. The magic woven into his words grew stronger as well.
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