Voices of the Stars

by Rowena Whaling

  It continued to read that if the first female child died – under any circumstances – then the second daughter born would also be named Rowena... and so forth. Also, that this girl, upon becoming a woman at her sixteenth year-turn, would “inherit one quarter of all of Rowena’s monetary wealth – that she would inherit the fortress and lands immediately surrounding it and that she be declared “A woman in her own right” for as long as she lived – no matter who or whether she married. It would then be up to her own sense of charity whether any of her family would be allowed to continue living in her fortress. The document went on to say that – “All this must be accomplished within twenty-five years of my own Death.”

  If this heiress were to die of ‘unnatural causes,’ or if no daughters were born and lived to obtain their sixteenth year-turn by the twenty-fifth year, the fortress and ten hectares of land immediately surrounding it – including the village – was to go to the local Chieftain to maintain and protect. The rest of her vast wealth was to be equally divided amoung the Order on the Isle of Apples, Tudno’s Church, and the Bishopric nearest the fortress – with the understanding that these assets be used for charitable works.

  Princess Rowena did not trust her son-in-law, or for that matter, her two oldest grandsons. She had always suspected foul play in the Death of her dear, beloved, daughter, Ribrowst Ardora. This endowment would not only protect any female child born into this family from possible dangers at the hands of the men, but it would permanently enrage Rhodri, the man she so despised. In this way she could get to him even from her Watery grave.

  Rowena was like that. I Loved her so. She had always made me smile.

  It is now over twenty years past the final battle between Arthur with his Alliance and Mordred with his Roman Revivalists in the conflict that had broken up the Confederacy of all the Tribes and Clans upon these Our Fair Isles. Since that Time all hope of keeping our Island to ourselves was gone.

  The whole Eastern side and much of the South below the highlands of the Picti were now Saxon, Jute or Angle territories. They came in beautiful ships across the Eastern Sea and swept over us, pushing us ever Westward like a great wave. But, of course, their history will be told by others.

  Not long after the Death of Morganna, I began to think – to fret even – about Morganna’s daughter. She had obviously been completely overwhelmed by Morganna’s evil works. Did she even know that she was not really Morganna Le Faye herself? Had she ever known the world outside of Morganna’s lair? I thought not.

  For the little Time I had known my nephew, Mordred, I had Loved him. Could I come to care for this girl too? She was now my only blood, outside of Arthur, who is caught somewhere between the worlds. I had never given my Mother Igraine a grandchild and, of course, now being past sixty-seven years old... my thoughts trailed off. Igraine’s blood.

  “Princess Igraine,” others would have called her – those who did not understand the social structure of the Old Dark Tribes. But to everyone who had known her, she was Igraine the great Seer, Guardian of Nodens’ Well. Morganna’s daughter was her granddaughter and also, her great-granddaughter. I shuddered...

  Upon that dreadful Night at the Giant’s Dance she had just walked away into the darkness. Not a word nor rumour has been heard of her since. The decision was being made in my heart that I must find her.

  As those who read these histories will know, I wield a great deal of influence and authority. Also, my Order holds wealth beyond measure – whereas we need little of it. Therefore, I had come to the decision to finance many parties of men and women to search the length and breadth of Briton for Morganna’s daughter. For years they searched to no avail…

  Unbeknownst to me at that Time, this is what had been unfolding:

  Rhodri had become lonely. Oh, for years there had always been young servant girls to warm his bed and cool his loins, but since Ribrowst had been killed by the roof timber that had fallen upon her head in the barn, he had missed her constant presence – or so he later told.

  Had he forgotten the frequent rages he had focused toward her? How he had beaten her? I am sure that by now he had come to rationalize that it could all be blamed on Ribrowst’s meddling Mother, Princess Rowena.

  When Rowena disinherited him from her great wealth and said that only Ribrowst would ever live in her fortress, Rhodri had lost his wits in hatred. Then Ribrowst was dead and gone from him forever.

  But he had Loved her and at first they had been happy – or so he told himself and so he said. She had given him three healthy sons. He missed all the things she had done for him. He remembered the fine smells of her cooking, the always joyful greetings for him whenever he arrived home. And she had truly Loved and desired him, so that their sexual play had been more satisfying to him than with any of the wenches since.

  But Rhodri, being a very practical man, had a plan.

  The Bishop – with whom Rhodri had become quite entangled through commerce, as well as due to his sons’ and his own conversion and baptism into the Church – had found the “hole” in Princess Rowena’s document. He had noted that Rowena’s letters of inheritance had not specified whether Rhodri’s sons alone could make the daughter, or daughters, to be named in her honour – for the wording had only said “born to their blood.” Thus any of their blood, including Rhodri’s, could make this “child.” Rhodri believed that the Bishop, who potentially had a great stake in this, was only protecting his own chances of some wealth coming his way through Rhodri, his sons, and a female Christian heir. He also believed that it would suit the Bishop well if Tudno, who had been Rowena’s friend, lost out on his potential gains from this whole affair. If the daughter was Rhodri’s, and not his young sons, the Bishop’s purse could be better filled.

  By that Time Rhodri’s eldest son, Huail ab Nau Caw, was known to be a great hunter and as violent as Rhodri was he. Between his carousing, gambling, and drunken debaucheries, he had little Time and no desire for a wife.

  As to the middle son – Celyn ab Nau Caw, much to the surprise of all who knew his treacherous nature had decided to live out his life in a Monastery. Of course, his Father’s friend, the Bishop, had in short order used his influence to maneuver things so that Huail was placed into position as the Sacrist – the one in charge of the Monastery’s money and treasures. Granted, this so-called Monastery, which had been established by a Monk named Cadfan, was very small, being comprised of only eight men and had been newly formed on the Isle of Ynys Afallach. Ynys Afallach lies off the Westernmost point of the Llŷn peninsula of Gwynedd. It had been, from Time out of memory, an Isle of Druids’ Bardic training.

  Interestingly, it is said that the Isle was named for a God known as Afflach, the “Orchard Lord,” who in Cymric myth, is the Father of nine sister Goddesses, who tend the Sacred Cauldron of Annwyn – hence its moniker “Orchard Isle” or “Isle of Many Apples,” which was, incidentally, the same as attributed to Ynys Mona, where the Druids’ renowned University had been before the Romans destroyed it.

  The truth is, in fact, that Celyn’s ‘relationship’ with the bishop allowed him many opportunities for being away from the monastery.

  Sildag, Rodri’s youngest son, who bade everyone call him Gildas – and was later known as Sapiens – had also become a Monk. But as things were to play out, it seemed that his faith was genuine.

  Rhodri decided that it was Time to find a new wife.

  One Day, near Sundown, as Rhodri was riding through the Woods at a pace, deep in thought, he of a sudden realised that he had taken a wrong turn somewhere. He saw smoke rising in one or two places above the Tree line, not far from where he was. A village then... But he had never known of a village a Day’s ride East of the fortress. But then, he was not completely sure in which direction he had veered.

  The village seemed quite primitive to him – five houses, a barn, a chicken house, a Well, a muddy pond, a few Pigs, and a Goat. The place was poor and filthy. The settlement was of the Clans. “Good...” thought he.
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br />   He was about to ride on and then he saw, walking from one of the hovels to the Well, the most beautiful and exotic girl he had ever seen. He hid in the Wood to watch. She was of the Old Dark Tribes. He crossed himself. They rarely were seen anymore. Her skin was dark, her hair and eyes black, not at all like his golden haired Ribrowst, but what a beauty! She had about her a quiet sensuality. His loins stirred.

  People said that old King Arthur had been one-half of this race and the other half Roman and of the Clans. But he had come out with golden hair, blue eyes and fair, golden skin. Together, he and this girl could make a Golden haired Rowena, he mused.

  He remembered this later and told her that he had wanted her from first sight because her beauty was so Enchanting to him.

  He had not relieved himself sexually since the Night before last, when he had taken Llanwen, the cook’s fourteen-year-old daughter to his bed. He began impulsively to rub his man-head to quell the itch, but it only served to heighten his desire for this dark beauty.

  He decided to ride into the little settlement and speak with her, but when she saw him, she became frightened and screamed.

  An emaciated old man with a crooked spine and yellow discharge draining from his red nose came running from one of the hovels with a pitchfork, hollering, “She’s mine!” – but then stopped abruptly when he saw this well-built, handsome, and obviously rich man on a Horse, holding the girl by her wrist.

  She looked at Rhodri, then again at the other man. She stood silent. The villager said, in a pleading tone, “I have fed ‘er fer a year, my Lord. Surely you will pay something to a poor man for a prize like ‘er.”

  Rhodri’s impulse was to kill the man, but he did not want the girl to fear him. He threw a small sack of coin to the man and said, “Will that do then?”

  The man smiled – his brown, rotted teeth showing.

  “G’bye girl! Be well!”

  Rhodri looked down at his beauty and smiled. She saw his handsome face, straight teeth and red-gold hair. She smiled too. Rhodri dismounted and lifted her to his Horse’s blanketed back with great gentleness, and then he arose to sit behind her. They spoke not a word until he found his way home.

  When they arrived, she was bathed thoroughly and dressed in whatever clothes would fit her and then her hair was braided and oiled. Rhodri bathed as well and burned both of their flea – and who knows what else – infested clothes and Horse blankets. When she was well prepared, she was taken to the great hall for cheese, honey cakes, and ale.

  Rhodri had wondered if she had been spoiled by that wretched man. Could she be with child? Surely not! He had been too old for that. Well, he would have the first answer later that Night when he took her to his bed.

  To Rhodri’s surprise, when she spoke, he found that she was very well spoken – in three languages even, two of which he did not understand. He asked who she was and how she had been educated. She shook her head and a tear dropped down her face.

  “I do not know, sir. I only remember walking and walking and being very hungry. Then a Merchant couple found me and brought me North. They fed me. I gave them the fine cloak I was wearing in exchange for food and shelter in their wagon. Sometime soon after they said they had no more food to share and put me off in the Wood with no cloak. Again I walked and walked. This Time I was so very cold without covering. When I thought I could not go on, I stumbled upon the farm village where you found me. The old man’s wife and son had just died from an illness that had come upon them suddenly. He said that if I would work helping him with the garden and Animals and carrying things for him, he would give me shelter, food, and his wife’s woolen cloak. There I have been ever since. I remember not who I am, where I am from, or if I have a family – only walking in the Woods and being hungry.”

  Rhodri leaned back into his chair.

  “Are you spoiled? I mean – did that old man bed you?”

  “I know not what you mean, sir. He gave me what had been his son’s bed to sleep upon, if that is what you ask.”

  Rhodri exhaled; not having been aware of holding his breath.

  “Think naught about it,” he said. “It matters not.”

  He approached her to touch her hair.

  “Do you have a name?”

  “The old man called me Donella – “Dark-skinned Elfin one.”

  Rhodri made the sign of the Cross...

  “Well, we will do much better than that. You will have a Christian name.”

  “Christian?”

  This she said with an uncomprehending question in her voice. He laughed.

  “All will be well, girl, I will take care of you and please you as well. Trust and obey me in all things and you will be happy.”

  “Happy?” her voice faded.

  Then he kissed her mouth. She responded, shyly at first, and then in kind. That Night when he bedded her, he found her unspoiled, a virgin, as the Christians say. Like a whore from the Temples in Aquae Sulis she satisfied him in every way. She performed his every suggestion. “Had all the Gods come to bless him?” he laughed to himself at his old ways. Perhaps he would name her for the Christian God’s virgin Mother, Mair. Yes, that would be her name.

  Rhodri delighted in her as if she was a toy to play with. They married the next week at the Church. The Bishop himself performed the Rite just after her Baptism.

  Both Rhodri and Mair had told the story to me more or less with the same details, when, six years later, I was first in their presence at the fortress The Merlin had built.

  To whoever is reading this, you have probably already concluded that this Mair is the very same girl who had walked out of my life into the darkness – my niece, Morganna, the daughter of Morganna Le Faye.

  But why, you may ask, was she deceiving him thusly? Is she more her Mother’s daughter than she seemed? No. She had lost all memory, and what follows is why.

  Mind well that I am writing all of this account many years after these events took place. For, at the beginning of my newfound relationship with my niece, all I knew was from what I had been told by the searchers who I had hired for years to find her and that this information had come to me in many sketchy pieces.

  First, my searchers accidentally met the traveling Merchants, on a road from “one place to another,” very near to the great outcropping of rock in Manaw Gododdin, near to the place called Table Rock Hill. A very large village had begun to spring up upon and around the largest outcropping of rock where ancient Briton Chieftains had met to hold counsels and where Arthur had been presented by The Merlin as battle Commander and Over-King of these Our Fair Isles. Towns such as this were good “fields of plenty” for Merchants. When the Merchants were questioned by my armed Horsemen and women, they were, at first, too frightened to speak of the girl, but when they were offered gold for information, they pulled the beautiful hooded cloak from their wagon and showed it to the searchers. It proved to be the very one in which I had last seen her. Having had the description of it from me, the searchers obtained the story of how the Merchants had found “the girl” wandering cold and without food or drink.

  “Oh, we saved ‘er, we did, from a certain Death. Fed ‘er ‘til we ‘ad none left fer ourselfs. We left ‘er somewhere far to the Southwest o’ ‘ere. Can’t say where ‘xactly. She left the cloak fer payment. T’is ours by right!”

  So my searchers paid a couple more coins of gold to acquire the cloak. They knew I would want to see it, and so I did. When the Cloak was finally in my hands, I brought it up to the top of the Tor to lay it upon the Altar in the center of the Ring of Stones, for it was there that I thought to discover the nature of Morganna’s Magics woven into the cloak. There I stayed with others ministering to me for three Nights and three Days. Many deep Magics did I perform – yet I was unable to unravel the Mysteries of it.

  Then I knew then that no ordinary Magic could reveal the source of Morganna’s Spells, or give me the power to un-make them. And so I vowed to traverse beyond the darkness, into the bottomless depths of the La
nd of Naught – for these, I perceived, had been the playing grounds of Morganna Le Faye. I knew all the while that I must pay close attention at every moment not to disturb or to change anything whilst there.

  Mind, that I do not mean by this that I journeyed into the Beautiful Dark – the Caldron of Potentials from whence all Creation has sprung. Nor do I speak here of darkness as opposed to light – for these principals are equal necessities in keeping the whole of Creation advancing within its circular cycles of birth, life, Death, dissolution, and rebirth – for great science and great Magics are these. No, I speak not of these principles, but of the darker – let us call them the darkest – Magics. These dwell in the Land of Naught – the realm of possibilities of the un-raveling of the Cosmos itself. These also lurk in the halls of our deep unconsciousness. Magi of all great Mystery Traditions know of what I speak.

  There are sounds, vibrations and words of the Un-making, which I would never dare to utter, for they are not to be toyed with – not unless it would be to restore order to the Cosmos should it be split apart by one who is an emissary of the Land of Naught. But, knowledge is power, and this knowledge I hold – all but for the knowledge of the penultimate word of the Un-making, which no Human will ever know... And I thank all the Gods for that!

  Morganna Le Faye had somehow found and played with these powers. It cost her her sanity as well as who knows what debts her Spirit must repay in the Halls of Justice.

  Chapter 44

  The Seven Keys

  Morgan

  Now... do have patience with this telling of my story – for it is quite complicated.

  I feared the possible ramification of causing my own Death whilst within the Ring of Stones journeying in the Land of Naught. I knew that I must not risk sullying the soil of our most Sacred Temple – and so instead, upon the next Midnight I knelt beside the Well of the Red Spring. I held my arms around it tightly to keep me from being swallowed up by whatever monsters might confront me. I said a quick prayer to Nodens and Cast a Circle of protection about myself.