Return of the Grail King
Page 12
She schooled herself to patience, difficult to achieve now. After a while, the mist lightened. She heard laughter, the scrape of knives on plates, a dog gnawing a bone.
“How is King Hoel, Sir Lancelot? And his Lady Iseult?”
So, she’s made it to Camelot, Elizabeth thought. That must be a good sign.
Lancelot had already arrived. Here was a court hosting another love triangle. Why did this theme keep asserting itself?
Anne seemed to be fully integrated with Guinevere. Elizabeth settled in to listen.
Guinevere allowed the polite talk between Arthur, Lancelot, and several of the knights to wash over her like a stream—all about the court of King Hoel, Arthur’s victory against the Saxons and their allies, the challenges of keeping the regional kings loyal. The idea of a united Britain was still new, and as the peace continued, fewer people saw a need for unity. They were slipping back to the old ways. That had been the major reason for her marriage to Arthur.
“That is another reason they’ve sent me. To cement the alliances. The fiefdoms to the east are still restless.”
“Not to mention those to the north,” Arthur added.
Alliances. Was that the only thing life had to offer? Guinevere toyed with the venison on her plate, picked up her mug and drank the honeyed mead, listening to the tenor of Lancelot’s voice more than his words, catching the flash of his eyes when he looked past Arthur to her, watching his long fingers as he gestured or picked up his mug. A languid dreaminess crept through her, relaxing her limbs, warming her belly, making her heart stir awake like the buds on the apple tree in the meadow, promising the green growth of summer, the sweetness of an autumn harvest. She allowed herself to float, imagining the growing season spent with this new addition to court, showing him her favorite glen in the woods.
He had been here only a week, but already he’d won Arthur’s friendship. The two rode together every day, sat in Arthur’s council room going over maps, talking strategy for winning back the lords to the east whose people were a mix of Saxon and Normans as well as English. She saw the admiration for Lancelot in Arthur’s eyes. They’d quickly become as brothers.
The knights had welcomed him. Gawain took it easy on him when practicing in the yard—that is until Lancelot landed Gawain on his backside. Bors the Younger hung around him, eyes shining with hero worship. Gaheris, third son of Arthur’s sister and King Lot, plied him with questions when he could, asking about Llydaw and King Hoel.
Lancelot spared her a few hours, walking out to see the gardens, speaking to her beneath the bows of the orchard. A visitor from the western isles had made it to Llydaw and shared news of her family whom she heard from less and less.
“What do you think, m’lady?” Arthur’s voice jolted her out of her reverie.
Guinevere sat up straighter. “Sorry. I wasn’t following.”
Arthur threw his arm across her shoulders, pulling her closer. She tried not to stiffen. “I was saying rather than riding out immediately, perhaps our cousin could rest here with a few of his men while I visit some of the closer lands who still hold me dear to their hearts. He has traveled far already. His horses could do with more rest. His retinue will swell the number of soldiers I leave to guard Camelot. Not that much is needed in peace times.”
Heat flooded Guinevere’s face, and she tried to sit back, away from the rushlight, hoping no one would notice, but Arthur held her close. “If you think that is best, my lord. We will do our best to amuse our cousin while you attend to your duties.”
“It should only be two months. Not much longer. Then we can circle back and he can join us to march east,” Arthur said. Then he released her and raised his mug. He called for another toast to Lancelot, but the knight grabbed his arm. “They have had enough of me, Arthur. To the queen.”
“To Guinevere, the light of my life,” Arthur shouted.
And the host answered him, “To Guinevere. To the Queen.”
All but Agravain, who frowned, but held his cup up so Arthur would not notice. But Guinevere had seen and it chilled her heart like a sudden early spring rain.
So, it has begun, Elizabeth thought, pulling back from Anne. The call between two souls, two bodies, the eventual consummation. The giving of sovereignty, held by the woman carrying the blood bond with the land to another, making him king in spirit, but not in the law of this time, laying the road for the one son of Arthur’s to claim his right to kingship. It was a story every school child knew.
Her eyes strayed to the western altar where the temple’s chalice stood gleaming in a ray of morning sunlight from an eastern window high above. This cup had its own stellar history, like so many artifacts her family kept and collected over the years, but nothing like the grail itself. Arthur had sent Bors, Galahad, and Percival after that holy cup. Percival found his way to the castle where the grail was kept, but he failed to ask the right question. Elizabeth hoped she did not make the same mistake.
Elizabeth cleared her connections to Anne, pushing back from the bed a bit, then resettled into her trance. She needed to know why Anubis had stopped the banishing. Returning once again to the silver gray of the astral, Anne called out the name of the Opener.
Anubis, son of Osiris and Nephthys, Ab-Nub, Opener of Pathways between the worlds. Sacred Guide through the Ways. Come to me now.
She heard a chuckle. So formal. Am I ever so far from you, beloved Priestess?
So that was the mood he was in this morning. The ghost of a smile lifted her lips. She would come straight to the point.
Why?
We must let events come full circle.
Impatience swept through her limbs, but she controlled her response. These two lives hang in the balance, Great One.
More than that hangs in the balance.
What then?
The Opener shifted. His black jackal head blurred and when he was visible again, a tall, handsome man with jet black hair and sharp eagle eyes stood before her. Finish the story of Isis and Osiris tonight. Enact the ritual. This is the next step.
With a snap, he was gone.
Elizabeth took her time coming back to the world. She allowed herself to consider the message. When she found herself simply listening to the beep of Anne’s heart monitor, she rose heavily from her granddaughter’s side to find Gerald lingering near the doorway.
“How is she?”
“Physically the same. Both she and the baby are well.”
“That’s a relief. Do you think we could risk moving her yet?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Not until we’ve resolved this situation. In her visions, she’s moved from Egypt to Camelot.”
“You told me that before.”
“Lancelot has shown up.”
Gerald walked to Anne’s bed and stood looking down at her. Relaxed in sleep, she looked younger. He remembered reading bedtime stories to her when she’d visit with her mother. “Have you figured out why she’s living through these stories?”
“Her connection to Guinevere is deeper than just watching. It feels like she’s remembering a past life.”
“Is that significant?”
“Perhaps there is something unresolved for her, something she needs to be finished before Mordred will relent.”
They both heard a murmuring from the crystal in the middle, like distant thunder. They glanced at the large crystal ball uneasily. Elizabeth tightened her shawl around her.
“I spoke with the Opener. He wants us to perform the Isis ritual.”
Gerald frowned. “Why?”
“He just said, ‘We must let events come full circle’.”
“What circle? What does he mean?”
“The only way to find out is to take the next step.”
“What should I do?”
“Call the group together. Tell them what we’ll be doing.”
“I will.” He kissed her cheek. “Get some rest. Estelle still has that potato leek soup.”
“I should eat light if I’m to face the t
rials of Isis tonight.”
“So eat a small bowl. You’ve hardly eaten since this started.”
“Was it just yesterday?”
“Can you believe it?”
She squeezed his hand and he left her. It was only after he was gone that she realized she hadn’t asked about the hack. Oh well, perhaps being penniless would help her become the pilgrim Isis had been as she searched for the pieces of Osiris.
Chapter 13
That evening, Nina stretched her hands out over the blue-veined marble altar in the middle of the temple of Knight’s lodge. She stood in the west, sending energy and the whisper of a promise to the priest, none other than Valentin Knight himself. Regal in his white robe, he stood, eyes closed, palms open, almost swaying. Then his eyes opened with a snap and he smiled benevolently at his priestess, those blue eyes pure as a robin’s egg. Guileless. He took up his wand and intoned the opening phrase of their ritual.
Nina leaned back into the abundant energy she had raised, allowing it to lick up her spine, over her head, and back down to her forehead. She rode the current, pulling the energy in until she was wrapped in a cocoon of light. The ritual flowed like a mighty river, directed by the High Adept himself. Or so they thought him. The responses came automatically after so many years.
Once he turned away from her, Nina reached into the pocket of her robe and grasped the Orion crystal key. She ran her finger down the smooth, faceted edges, calling into her mind the spell she’d breathed into the crystal on the full moon. Her goal was to finish what she’d started so many years ago. He had escaped her at some point—she couldn’t remember how—but she would capture him again, tame his will, distract his mind, seal him back in the cave. Steal his knowledge and power.
Sometimes she wondered how she’d gained access to this group, how she’d fooled them all, but squashed the thought in case anyone around her picked up any jarring vibrations. Like a chameleon, she sank into those memories of the past when she truly had been the high-minded student of this man, letting that frequency flicker over the surface of her mind.
The ritual ran about an hour, and Valentin closed down the circle, the energies quieting gradually, small eddies and echoes spinning down until the latent vibrations settled into quiescence, but Nina kept her cone of light wrapped about her tightly so no one would detect it. The group filed out of the temple, went off to change into their street clothes, and gather in the common room for some refreshment and conversation. Nina waited until most of the group had left, then snuck into the women’s room, still smaller than the men’s even after a generation of more equal participation. She went to her corner toward the back and changed, folding her robe carefully, cradling her power objects inside a soft cloth. She pulled the Orion crystal over her head, then hid it beneath the front of her black dress that clung in all the right places, draped a soft wool shawl in fall tones over it, and braced herself for small talk. She despised all the niceties of polite conversation.
“Wait up,” Faye called to her. The younger woman brushed out her gleaming chestnut pageboy—weren’t those from the fifties? Nina half listened as her sister lodge member told her the story of how her teenage son had been in a fender bender as they walked to the common room together. Faye pushed open the venerable oak doors and a sea of voices washed over them.
Her companion headed straight to the buffet table and filled her plate with stuffed mushrooms, dates stuffed with blue cheese, and artichoke turnovers. “I just adore these,” she informed Nina. The mushrooms did smell earthy and rich, so Nina took a few, added a variety of olives, and a couple of Russian wedding cookies for decoration, then made her circuit, greeting the important members of the lodge. She took a glass of sparkling cider from a tray. She needed to keep her head clear.
Spying Ralph, she made her way to his side and waited for the conversation to lull. “Has my secretary gotten in touch about the benefit?” she asked.
Ralph’s gaze sharpened a touch as he searched his memory, making it back to earth a little more with this question of practical matters. His feet floated above the ground too much to be a serious magician, but it was important to stay on his good side. Seeing that he didn’t know, she smiled. “I’ll check tomorrow. I’m looking forward to the event.”
His eyes shone at this. Ralph was a sucker for putting art education into the poorest schools. Really, they tagged their whole neighborhood. She thought they had plenty of practice.
After an hour, the platters held only a few stray cookies and bits of cheese. The group gathered their coats and headed out, with all the hugging, shoulder pounding, and hearty goodbyes that entailed. Nina sank back into a dark corner and wove a cloak of shadows around herself. Soon, the group had gone except for Valentin. He sank into a deep chair by the fire and sighed. Nina drew the spell she’d prepared for him into her mind, fortifying her intention. She took a step out from the corner next to the antique cherry sideboard, letting her cloak down gradually.
Valentin jerked in surprise, almost spilling his whiskey.
“It’s just me,” she whispered, adding a touch of husk to her voice.
“I thought everyone had gone.” He struggled to stand, pushing against the armrest, the blue veins showing against his white hands.
Nina closed the distance between them and put a hand on his shoulder. “Stay. May I join you?”
Valentin gestured to the matching chair on the opposite side of the fireplace. “Can I get you a—”
“Drink?” she interrupted. “I can pour my own. You relax.”
She went to the sideboard and picked up the bottle of Glen Alba whiskey. She took an appreciative whiff, but chose the Lagavulin scotch instead. That was one thing about Valentin. He had the best of everything—drinks, food, magicians. She put two ice cubes into her glass, added a dash of angostura bitters, then poured two fingers. She picked up the whiskey bottle and held it out to him. “More?”
“Oh, no. Only a sip or two after a night like this.” His tone was warm. It had been a strong ceremony.
Nina kicked off her shoes and folded herself into the chair across from her former mentor, took a sip of her scotch, and let the silence mellow around them.
After a minute, she asked, “Are rituals taking more out of you these days?”
He snorted, then studied the flames for so long she thought he wouldn’t answer. “I suppose so. But tonight I felt some kind of . . .”
“Disturbance in the force?” she suggested, then wondered if Valentin had ever seen Star Wars.
His chuckled reassured her. “I suppose you could say that. I thought we’d turned the corner on the new age, especially after last Christmas.”
“What happened then?” she asked, but he didn’t answer. He went back to watching the fire as if he could divine the solution in the color or shape of the flames. She’d drifted away until his voice called her back.
“You are so sensitive. Did you notice anything off tonight?”
She stroked the butter-soft leather of the chair, pretending to consider his question. “I’m sorry, Valentin, but everything seemed crystal clear to me.” She rose and stood behind him, dropping her hands on his shoulders, kneading the tight muscles, but he stiffened beneath her touch.
Not yet, she thought.
Nina settled in front of him on the Persian carpet, not touching. She lifted her eyes, pushed a sorrowful look onto her face. “Perhaps it’s something else. Are you well?”
He waved this suggestion away. She noticed he still wore his magical ring—a deep amethyst singing its high note, set in the middle of a compass and square. “I’m healthy. I just had my physical last month.”
She smiled and rested her hand on his knee. “I’m glad to hear it. I hope there is nothing just developing that the tests couldn’t find.”
He frowned.
“But you would know.”
She let her hand grow heavier on his knee, and when he didn’t resist, stroked his lower thigh. “Since you’re so vital . . .”
He laughed and shifted his weight, letting her hand fall away. “I must admit you are still much younger and full of energy, my dear. Not tonight.”
Nina pouted just a touch, enough to appeal to him but not suggest any feminine silliness. “As you wish, Val.” She rose, and as she did so, pretending to brace herself, she pressed the spell deep into his legs, the heady smell of lilacs in the sun, the sensuous drowsing of bees inside flowers, the musk of the buck in rut.
She leaned close, bending in front of him to display the curve of her breasts. Cupped his face so the damask rose oil on her wrist gave off the scent of a garden in full bloom. She brushed his dry lips with her mouth, leaving a trace of the spell there.
“Perhaps another time,” she said. Glancing down, she detected a slight swell in his trousers and smiled to herself. She had done her work for the night, planting desire and self-doubt in this aging, but still powerful man. She’d established an energy line between them that she’d slowly pull taunt to reel him in.
Nina gathered up her shawl and wrapped it around herself. Picking up her glass, she caught him watching, a slight frown on his face. “What is it?”
But he only shook his head. “Just leave it,” he said, pointing to the glass. “Benson will take care of everything in the morning.”
So he hadn’t noticed. Not yet. The spell would seep in slowly. She’d check on its progress tomorrow night.
“As you wish. Good night, Grand Mage.” She gave a slight bow as she left the room, gathered her things in the women’s dressing room, and slipped out into the night. Cold, brilliant stars lit the sky, watching her progress as she drove toward town.
Gerald went into the kitchen and asked Estelle to make a tray for Elizabeth.