My sister… No one had heard a word from her since the battle when Mordred died. Most thought her dead. But somehow I never did. She felt to me as one locked between the worlds, hiding. Sometimes in my Dreams, I had heard quiet but malicious laughter mocking me. In Trance journeys I traversed the Underworld, place of the newly dead, and the Summerlands, but nowhere was she to be found.
Even, I went as far as the Land of Forgetfulness, where the dead, when ready, go to leave all conscious memory of the life lived before, so as to be reborn into a new journey of life experience. I knew that that place is a danger to those Walkers who dare to go there. One could, it is said, not be able to return at will because of the of that place’s function of forgetfulness.
Most of us have heard tell of some folk, who although alive in this world, sit open-eyed yet unreachable to the people around them. For years they can live like this, within themselves – yet breathing and eating and drinking, if fed – being moved from one place to another yet seemingly unaware or unconcerned of all around them. The Merlin had almost been there. Being condemned into this state, it is said, could be the danger to a Walker who dares journey to the Land of Forgetfulness.
Once only did I go there – shielded by powerful Magics – seeking the fate of Morganna. But she was not there. I sought to fly quickly from that world, through the dark, gossamer barrier – leading back to the Land of the Living. But, I began to forget why I must go.
Of sudden my Queen Bee appeared to me – only she was mighty and much larger than I. She buzzed so loudly that it seemed her voice could shake the Worlds. She spoke: “Come, Morgan of the Bees. Return home with me.”
She flapped her wings, creating a tempest and then dragged me through the barrier into the Realm of the Peaceful Dead. On the other side, I was myself again – that is to say my Spirit self. I looked at her with Love and wonder. She was still as large as before. Then she spoke again: “Morgan, spend not yourself in any way for Morganna Le Faye. Though of your blood, she is evil. Hear what I am saying, Morgan – never forget. I, Queen of Bees, am yours to command. I will always protect you – as you have so lovingly cared for and protected my Ancestors, my children, and my children’s children.”
Even if it be by our own sacrifice, we will keep you from harm. Do you understand? We will also keep your hands free from the blood of the evil Morganna. Blood for blood, we would pay to rid our world from the living blight that she is. Even you do not know the extent of harm she had done toward this Earth and Her Creatures – both Human and Animal. Blood for blood, Morgan. It will be done.”
I was disturbed from my thoughts when my brother arrived with the courier.
A beautiful and very young man was he, almost too beautiful not to be a girl. But there was about him an eerily strange countenance. His Spirit’s Colours were a swirling, changing cloud. Then I saw him eye to eye. He looked as if possessed by a God. But no, this was no Ritual of worship to elicit beatific expression. Around him were not the fragrance of flowers, as befits the presence of a Holy Man. Instead he had about him a sweet, nay, sickly sweet odor of evil Enchantment. Of course, Morganna! His eyes were staring at me now, transfixed to mine, as if I could be drawn in by them. Lesser and pointless Magics were these.
“Yes,” said I – “give her message to me.”
The courier handed over the waxed scroll. It read: “Greetings, Morgan. I have a great surprise for you – a beautiful surprise. As befits the occasion and the monumental nature of my surprise, I want you to meet me at the Giant’s Dance, upon the Night of the next Full Moon.
Morganna Le Faye...”
I sat there for several minutes in silent thought.
“Is there a reply, my Lady?” asked the messenger.
“Yes... Tell her that the Lady of the Lake will meet her as she requests and will come to her, unescorted by man or woman, and unarmed.”
If she thought to trick me, it would be best for her to think longer. I was finished with her surprises.
It was then that I knew without a doubt, that even if it meant that I must take upon my Spirit the condemnation of the Scrolls of Judgment for the murder of Morganna Le Faye, my blood sister, child of my own Mother – she must die!
“I pray the Goddess to forgive me that I do harm, knowingly and willingly, to another.”
I told Arthur when I visited with him the next morning that soon I must be gone for a short while.
“But I will make sure that Gwenda brings the drops of my Bee’s honey and the Holy Springs’ Water to you everyday while I am away. Perhaps she can play Branwen’s harpy, and sing for you as well.”
I stroked his golden hair, fine as ever.
Still he does not age...
“Oh, Bear, if you could see me now. My hair is almost all white, and my hands, which you always said were so delicate and beautiful, are lined, spotted, and old looking.”
Funny this – inside myself, I feel as young as when you were crowned. Mind I said, inside...
But then, my bones ache and my vision fails. Time ravages all things – except for you, Arthur. I hope with all my heart that you can hear me somehow. That is my greatest prayer – my dearest one – that somehow you know I am near to you. Know this Arthur: I will never betray you to this eternal silence, no matter what – for you do not deserve to be chained to this prison of emptiness...
Night of the Full Moon...
Full Moon and almost Dusk... How dramatic, Morganna. You make me wait...
Then, suddenly, walking from behind the shadows of one of the largest Stones came a figure, cloaked and hooded. But as she came closer to me, she threw back her hood and shook her head to reveal long and lush, perfectly black hair falling to her waist and the one large, perfect pearl given to her upon her name Day.
“Morganna?!”
“Yes... Morganna.”
She looked as young and beautiful as she had the last Time we were here together. I took a moment to put my thoughts together. That last Time was when our Lady Mother was bringing me to the Isle of Apples, to become a postulant.
Igraine had said, “Before you are gone from me, my girl, I want you to see the Giant’s Dance – even though it is much out of our way.”
“The Giant’s Dance, Mother? What do you mean? I thought Giants lived only in little children’s tales. You know – to frighten them on a cold, stormy Night. You remember, Mother – just as you used to tell so that we would scream and run into your arms at the telling.”
“You will see for yourself, Morgan. There are still wonders, even in this world of form.”
Yes, in the world of form. Here was Morganna Le Faye, as beautiful – no, perhaps even more so than when last I saw her. But, how?
Then I smelled it, the unmistakable stench, the scent of feral Wildcat. No! This is lie, not truth!
“So, Morganna, have you used up your Magic thusly?”
This I spoke, not looking at the girl that stood before me, but up at the near dark Sky. Then with a chill, I remembered Mordred’s words – Mordred’s last words.
“She may be with child.”
“Run home to your Mother, girl! You do not fool me. Although you are her likeness in every way, you hold not within you the power or the evil of your Mother. Tell her her game does not work on me. She must try much harder to fool the Lady of the Lake.”
So the girl, wearing Morganna’s angry face, turned and walked away into the darkness.
I stood alone, wondering what would come next. Yes, there I stood within the center ring of the Giant’s Dance, waiting.
All of a sudden, a great wooden Fire burst into flames upon the Altar Stone, where there had been nothing a moment before. Or had I just not seen the Wood before this? It was now full dark save for the Moon’s light.
She made her grand entrance. From behind the portal, through which the Sun disk shines upon its rising on the longest Day, walked Morganna Le Faye.
“Morganna,” – I said, in mocking amusement. – “Do you not wish your Magics wer
e potent enough to keep you looking as young and beautiful as your daughter? Oh, did I just ruin your surprise? Mordred, son of your flesh, as he lay dying in my arms, told all.”
A look of deep-seated anger and hatred came upon her face, contorting it into a truly ugly and dangerous looking one. But wait – was that also a pang of deep grief showing – regret even?
I sensed it about her. How could I still feel my childhood pity for her? I disappoint myself.
Because she was so furious, she hesitated to speak. I took advantage of her momentary silence to say, “Why, Morganna? To what end? Why this now? For that matter, why everything you have ever done?”
“I will tell you why! Because I, and not Arthur, was the first born of Gorlois, who held the blood royal of the Clans – and of Igraine, who held the true blood of the Old Tribes. Gorlois was Dux, Second Battle Commander of the Britons under Ambrosius Aurelious. Gorlois’ true, first-born heir, should have become King or Queen – as Uther left no heir of his body. Without The Merlin’s meddling and plotting, I could have married into the Roman strain – say Uther Pen Dragon himself, or even Gwyddion The Merlin, the half man I could have made whole, at least long enough to get with child. But then Arthur was born, and all was ruined. But, as everyone knows, I gave birth to his only child, Mordred. Prince Mordred was trained and groomed to be a King. He should have been... and should still be.”
“Then what went awry, Morganna? Did he hold Arthur’s goodness as well as his looks and intelligence?”
She visibly flinched.
“He meant everything to me, but... but…”
“But what? He would not, could not, go along with your plot to kill his Father?”
“Yes. Yes! After all I had done for him!
“The week before the battle he said he would speak with Arthur. We argued bitterly. The selfish little sanctimonious retch! He was going to ruin everything – all my plans for all those years. I knew Arthur would name Bedwyr and not my son as King after himself. So I drugged Mordred, with aphrodisiacs – a potion so strong he would have fucked a Boar. That was the Night before the battle, upon the Full Moon. He awoke to the knowledge that he had coupled with his own Mother, and that after me, no woman, or man for that matter, could ever pleasure or satisfy him as I had. Not only once, but six Times we performed every act that could be performed between a man and a woman.
“When the drug wore off he slept. He awoke with a rage that befits a Warrior. I thought he might even kill me. So I waved my hand in a certain gesture that I had prepared... just in case. I had used this same gesture many Times with Mordred, from his early childhood on, to hold him under my power and my every suggestion. The Spell he came to be under that morning was this: He would hold his rage, it would be forgotten, until the battle began, at which Time it would return to him. But as rage, not only for me, but for the perversion of our family – which I had convinced him of. Rage toward Arthur, toward himself.
“I knew that I was with child, a glorious, royal child to equal Mordred.
But, I had Loved him more than anyone. It was not my fault… This was all caused by his own rebellion against me and our plans.”
Then, Morganna broke down and cried. Was this the first Time in my life I had ever seen her shed a genuine tear?
She came back to herself.
“Now I have a royal heir, with all the royal bloodlines. Morganna the Second will conquer and hold all in her sway. Because all will believe that she is me – Morganna Le Faye, the greatest Seer and Magician the world has ever known!
“For you see, Morgan, I will return to my hidden dwelling place, and no one alive will know that she is not me – the immortal, ever young, ever beautiful, Morganna Le Faye.”
Then I knew that she had completely lost her wits. How long ago? I wondered. Had she always been thus? …and through our weakness or blindness, we all had never allowed ourselves to see it or accept it?
“No one alive will know? But I know the truth, Morganna.”
She laughed an ugly echoing laugh. It seemed to come from the branches of the Trees behind me. But wait! – there are no Trees… was that only her laughter I heard? No! My Bees! My Bees were here.
At once her blade flashed in the Fire light. She was running toward me across the inner circle holding a dagger. But my Bees – their buzzing was so loud! I looked behind myself. They were swarming toward me. No – toward Morganna! I remembered their vow:
“Blood for blood, we will sacrifice for you, Morgan.”
I held my hands to my ears, so their angry buzzing would not drive me mad.
Morganna, realizing her peril, jumped upon her Horse, who had appeared by her side at the sound of her whistle. But how could he hear her above the deafening buzzing? Perhaps her Magic was that strong.
She and her Horse flew like an arrow across the Windy plain. My Bees swarmed past and around me. There were hundreds – no, thousands. I watched as they overtook her. Around her body they formed a grotesque mold. She fell from her Horse, arms and legs flailing convulsively, for the seemingly endless moments from when the Bees had first caught up with her. I heard her screams – screeching and wailing like a rabbit caught in the talons of a Hawk. They were unforgettable.
The Bees never harmed the good beast that ran out of sight, away from Morganna.
All that could be seen by Full Moon’s light was a huge, seething mound. Then silence – except for the gentle sound of my Bees flapping their wings...
I ran as best I could toward her. Why? I do not know – morbid curiosity perhaps. I knew it would be a horrific sight. By the Time I reached her corpse, the Bees had done with her. Already she looked as if all of her bodily fluids had left her insides and rushed to just beneath her skin. This hideous swollen mass of dead flesh was unrecognizable to me.
I gagged, then retched, then held my hand to my mouth. I just stood and stared, not only at her, but at the hundreds of dead worker Bees.
“Blood for blood,” my queen had said. Would I, too, have to pay the cost of this? of their blood? The Merlin always said, “Everything has a cost.”
It did not matter. Feelings washed over me like an angry Sea, wave after wave, all changing, all un-nameable. I could not catch my breath. Would I drown in this? This, what... was this sorrow? Regret? Pity? Relief?
Vivianne had warned me. “You cannot Heal everyone, Morgan.”
Remembering her words, I wept. I fell to sitting upon the ground beside the only sister of my flesh. The sister I could not save.
This was the end of an era. Everyone I had known of my generation was either dead or far removed from me. Gone... everyone was gone, even Arthur. Yes, at that moment I accepted the truth: I knew as a certainty – beyond all doubt – that Arthur would never return as King to the land of the living. His Kingdom – his Dream – was gone, too.
Then I remembered what the Voices of the Stars had told me long ago – “Yours is an eternal Love, Morgan...” But how could Arthur and I be together again if he was never to die?
I had promised not to leave him suspended between Death and life. At that moment, I knew what must be done, and I vowed to do it.
There I sat in vigil beside her until way past the Dawn. The sounds of the Day had begun.
I looked up to see the Ravens wheeling above. They awaited their feast.
PART FIVE
The Child of Promise
Chapter 43
Pieces of a Puzzle Game
Morgan
I have always thought that the Weavers were very clever in their web making. Things, people, and happenings which seemingly have no pattern come together like pieces of a puzzle game in the strangest of ways. This, I was to realise all the more at this late stage of my life. Yet coincidences – too odd, too strange to really be that – fall into place as neatly as a felled Tree hits the ground. The improbable is turned upside down by the inevitable. Or, is it the other way around?
You may ask, “Could these incidents not just be as leaves blown by the Wind,
making beautiful art in a meadow? Or could it be that we see pictures in the Clouds because we want to see them there?”
Yes, you may ask... But the truth of this is that we will never really know. There comes a Time when random coincidences reach their point of no return, and then... ‘There be the realm of Dragons’ – we enter the uncharted, unknown territory of events that will change forever the course of history.
I had thought that Night on that windy plain there at the Giant’s Dance, that all of the histories that would matter enough for me to compile had come to an end. I was so wrong… for the tale of the keeping and hiding of these histories is as important as the writing of them.
So, as strange and unlikely as what I will write on these pages sounds – it is the absolute truth.
Rhodri had been a widower now for over twenty-five years.
When Princess Rowena, the daughter of Hengist – the Saxon King – died, she had left an ironclad agreement between Rhodri, his three sons, and herself regarding the inheritance of her vast wealth and fortress. Three copies of this agreement had been left in good hands.
One copy was given to The Merlin who passed it on to me, Morgan – now Lady of the Lake.
One copy was entrusted to her most Christian – and literate – friend, Tudno, who had built a place of worship near his hut and Well at Cyngreawdr Fynydd. This location was, she noted, “There beside the Druids’ swinging Stone of judgment.” Tudno was a kind and generous man. He had settled into the area to aid and educate the impoverished locals. Rowena was of the habit of visiting with Tudno often for some intelligent conversation and a game of Fidchell. She considered it worth the cost of the long ride from her fortress and Tudno’s polite, occasional prompting of her toward the Christ. She trusted this man.
The third copy was held by Rhun Hir, the Chieftain of the Gwynedd Cymru surrounding her lands.
According to this agreement, Rhodri’s sons were to inherit one half of all of her vast wealth and lands, with the exception of her fortress. This was provided that the first female child born – and this I quote – “to their blood, who survives into womanhood, is to be named Rowena in honour of myself, Princess Rowena – the Saxon.”
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