Shades of Avalon

by Carol Oates

  Guinevere inhaled a slow breath and closed her eyes briefly. “No. You’ve no idea how much I wish I had.”

  I frowned and plucked a blade of grass, tossing it aside in frustration. Before I could ask her why, she spoke. “Well now, isn’t that interesting,” Guinevere observed with a note of curiosity in her voice.

  “What?”

  “The mark he carries—that does put a new and extremely interesting twist on our situation.”

  John had taken off his T-shirt and was facing the water, wiping sweat from the back of his neck with it. The guy was unrecognizable from the one I first met at Tara. He seemed to pack sleek muscle on his body day by day. His shoulders flexed with strength, and his sculpted back narrowed downward, giving his torso a triangular appearance. He had a physique any of the guys on the soccer team in school would have killed for. Hell, a few years ago, I’d have killed to look like that. I presumed Gwen was referring to the tattoo on John’s back—three crescents interlocked at one end directly over his spine and smack bang between his shoulder blades.

  “I’m not sure how John being inked is gonna help us.”

  “That is not a tattoo,” she said, and I turned to see her watching him with one eyebrow raised. “Very curious.”

  I chuckled humorlessly. Even during Guinevere’s time, men marked themselves with ink. Perhaps the reasons had changed over the centuries, but I was positive it wasn’t something that should pique her interest in any way. “Since I’m clearly missing something, maybe you would care to explain?”

  Guinevere hummed thoughtfully and dragged her long braid over her shoulder, running her fingers lightly over the knotted leather. “I think that if you were to ask John where he got that mark, he wouldn’t be able to tell you.”

  “Wouldn’t he have mentioned something like that?” I asked skeptically and snorted a laugh. In my opinion, John had proven he was trustworthy. He had nothing to gain from this—the opposite. If—when Caleb returned, he’d have to watch Triona walk away all over again. I remained skeptical of Guinevere’s and Merlin’s motives. If John’s tattoo was something we needed to investigate, he would have said.

  “Why would he think it is anything remarkable in context of what’s happened?”

  “But you think it is remarkable. Why don’t you enlighten me?”

  John had knelt down beside Triona. He gently held her calf below her rolled up sweat pants leg, checking her injury which, no doubt, had already healed. His upper body glistened in the twilight, and he could easily have physically passed for a half-breed just like Triona or me.

  “It’s an ancient mark. See how it’s still growing?” Guinevere pointed, her finger tracing a curved line in the empty air.

  I looked closer to see she was right, the outside of the curves were extending minutely, creeping along his skin like tiny ink vines. The crescents began to turn inward at the outside edges as I watched. John grabbed a zipped sweatshirt from the grass, ending my observation.

  “I haven’t seen this in a very long time. Emrys once told me it’s reserved for one marked by destiny. I thought nothing of it. We lived in a time of magic after all.”

  I swung my head around to look at her, expecting she’d be smiling. Do we need any more complications? “Amanda doesn’t have one. If she did I’d have seen it by now.”

  “Not marked by magic—by destiny—for one so affected by a change in their fate that their body is left scarred by it. Amanda was always meant for you. Her destiny wasn’t changed in the way John’s was.”

  “What exactly does that mean?”

  Gwen closed her eyes, and her jaw tightened for a fraction of a second before it relaxed again. “It will become a triple spiral—the triskele. To us it’s the symbol for past, present, and future.”

  I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes and rubbed hard. Everything kept changing. Every single time I got a handle on what was going on or where we stood, someone wrenched the rug right from under me. How much information could my brain hold before bits and pieces started to ebb away like a leaky faucet losing water?

  “Did you ever wonder why Triona made the decision to allow Zeal his freedom?”

  My hands whipped away from my face, and I glared down on her.

  “Oh come on.” She smiled benignly. “The murderer of your soul mate, her best friend—surely it must have crossed your mind to wonder why Triona chose to set him free.”

  It actually hadn’t. It had never crossed my mind that Triona had any reason other than being killers was not who we were. I raised a silent eyebrow, waiting for Guinevere to continue her insinuations.

  “Your sister cares for this human deeply. She chose to change him—”

  “No,” I cut her off. “She chose to save him.”

  “And in saving him, he was changed forever. She made him into something he was never meant to be. She was protecting him from what she is, first by showing mercy where there should have been none, and second by taking his memories. As we can see, imparting her power to him in the process.”

  I looked to where John pulled Triona to her feet before walking over to where two swords lay on the grass. Triona shook her legs out, testing to see if the injury had healed.

  “Do you know the story of Sétanta?”

  I shook my head, and she frowned, clearly not impressed with my lack of historical knowledge. “In his time, women were warriors. Sétanta’s mother was also the descendent of powerful Druids. While pregnant, she accompanied her brother’s men on a hunt for a flock of wild birds that had defiled a sacred ceremonial site. Days into the hunt, they grew weary and took shelter at the home of a young man. While there, she went into labor, knowing the baby wouldn’t survive. But the man was Lugh of the Dé Danann, and she had fascinated him with her strength, beauty, and bravery. He took pity and saved the baby by imparting some of his own strength to the newborn infant.

  “As a child, Sétanta was set upon by a group of youths when he attempted to join their troop. He fought back and defeated the other boys. He then insisted they seek his protection. One day a visiting king stopped by to watch the troop play hurling. It’s a Gaelic game played by warriors. I suppose it would be much like ice hockey—” Guinevere smiled “—without the padding. Impressed by his abilities, the great king invited him to a banquet at the local smith’s home to be held in the king’s honor. However, the king later forgot about the invitation.

  “When Sétanta showed up, he found a great hound had been released to protect the property. He killed it. When Culann, the smith, realized the king’s mistake and that his hound had been destroyed, he was devastated. Sétanta offered to take its place until he reared another. He became known as Cú Chulainn from that time. It means Culann’s hound. And a hound Cú Chulainn was…a handsome, terrifying warrior marked by destiny, who defeated the entire army of Ulster alone.”

  I felt my brow crease in confusion because I honestly couldn’t follow where Guinevere was going with this story, or what it had to do with Triona and John. Guinevere sighed and looked toward the sound of banging metal and violent swishes as their sparring blades sliced through the air. John matched Triona blow for blow. Guinevere sighed.

  “When the flow of destiny is interrupted, it naturally creates a new path. Sometimes the interruption is so great, the new path breaks away, becoming an entirely new reality. Fate does not tolerate her plans being altered by earthbound mortals.”

  “So you’re saying that mark means John is an unexpected variable in fate’s plan because of the decision Triona made to take his memories. Now we’re all living in an alternate reality.”

  Gwen stood and bent at the waist to brush grass from her jeans, her braid swinging between us. “I’m saying if Lugh hadn’t saved the newborn, the arm of Ulster wouldn’t have fallen. If Triona had destroyed Zeal then Caleb would be with Triona. Every choice we make has a consequence. Think of the smallest mercy as a tiny ripple that grows to a massive tidal wave. She made a choice that set us all on a new path. When Tri
ona accidently bestowed powers on John, that path shifted so completely that Fate had no choice but to set us adrift. Much of our future is unwritten now. Culann needed his hound, and every queen needs her champion.”

  Gwen’s palms pressed into her thighs for a second, and her shoulders slumped just a little. In a flash of movement she straightened and looked down at me with a sad smile. “Sétanta was said to have been touched by the Gods of the Tuatha Dé Danann with the Riastradh. He possessed an ability to control the very essence of his physical being at will and manipulate time when in battle. We aren’t only speaking of an ability to travel in clouds of dust. We are speaking of shape-shifting to any organic form. Stories say Sétanta became a mighty beast. To anyone around him, his assault would seem as a frenzy, a blur of movement and blood. When the mark completes, John will possess this ability. A power like that—” she shook her head “—would be worth tearing down the world to possess.”

  My jaw slackened, and my heart began to pound harder as what Guinevere said began to sink in. I wasn’t the Stone. Possibly Merlin was right and untapped power ran through my veins, but John would be the one with the gift of transmutation. John is the Philosopher’s Stone. He was the one Triona would have to sacrifice to get Caleb back. He was also the one we needed to keep from Zeal.

  “Will you come somewhere with me?” Guinevere asked, a note of reservation in her tone.

  “Where?”

  “Somewhere we may both find answers.”

  I frowned. “That doesn’t tell me much.”

  Her eyes darted across to Triona and John. “Please, just meet me after dinner, and don’t tell anyone.”

  Guinevere’s lips parted and closed twice, as if the words she wanted to say wouldn’t come. She averted her eyes, looking off toward the trees and sighed. I waited. I had learned from the women in my life not to interrupt when a female has something she needs to say. Finally Guinevere frowned and turned. I watched as she walked away. She only got a few feet before she stopped again with her back to me.

  “If I’d known the Stone was a person, I would have made the connection sooner. It wasn’t until after Merlin and Arthur were gone that I even learned the mark of the triskele Arthur carried meant he would eventually gain the Riastradh. Although it never did complete before he was taken from me. This is about much more than immortality,” she said quietly and continued walking.

  I remained to watch Triona and John fight and mulled over what Guinevere had said. If he hadn’t been there, would she have finished Zeal? There might have been truth in what Gwen said about Triona not wanting to be a monster in his eyes. If it came to a choice between losing Caleb forever and losing John—would Triona really sacrifice one for the other?

  Consciously or unconsciously, Triona changed John in the way Lugh had changed Sétanta and Merlin had changed Arthur, creating a new reality. I understood what he was trying to tell me now. Perhaps the future he showed me was the life I could have had if Brigid never made the Sword of Nuada.

  So, the Riastradh was another secret of the Philosopher’s Stone. I was still unsure how it tied to the four phases.

  A sudden chill rushed over my skin as I contemplated the idea of Zeal possessing such power. It was a long time before I noticed Triona and John had stopped fighting, and that the last light of the sun had disappeared to be replaced by the moon, turning the landscape shades of silver, gray, navy, and black.

  Chapter 17

  The Fáidh

  “WHAT ARE WE DOING HERE, GUINEVERE?” I asked, following her to a patch of water in the dead of night. On one side, a rocky shore broke against a tall, gray cliff face. Otherwise, rolling grass fields surrounded the lake, broken only by groupings of trees. At the other end of the water in the distance, I made out what appeared to be an old stone farmhouse. Perhaps that explained the sheep dotting the area.

  “This is Crag Lough,” she replied by way of explanation. She still wore her jeans but with Excalibur strapped to her hip beneath her leather coat. Her hand lifted, and she gestured to her right. “Hadrian’s Wall runs along a path just over there.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t understand the relevance.”

  Guinevere turned to look at me, her amber eyes stern and knowing. “And I thought I asked you not to tell anyone about our little excursion?” She stepped back and released a resigned breath.

  As if on cue, two small figures made their way toward us out of the shadows created by the cliff—Amanda and Emma. Emma carried her bow in her hand, and the feathery ends of her arrows poked up from the quiver strapped to her back.

  Even in darkness, I had no problem catching the blush across Amanda’s cheeks as they approached. I noted Emma’s previously chin length hair, braided from the top of her head in the same style as Guinevere. It had to be fake. Red and amber streaks twisted through the black, and I wondered if Guinevere had gained a fan?

  Amanda tucked herself into my side and wrapped an arm around my back. She fixed Guinevere with a surprisingly angry glare. “I’ve given you the benefit of doubt all this time. I’ve tried to be friendly, but please don’t misinterpret reserved judgment for weakness. Did you really think he would sneak off with you and not tell me?”

  Guinevere smiled and Amanda’s nostrils flared. Her fingers tightened on my jacket. I kind of liked territorial Amanda. This wasn’t jealousy, this was her protective side coming out.

  “Actually, I presumed he would tell you. I was surprised not to see you at the car.” Guinevere’s shoulders lifted and dropped casually. “You.” She swiveled to Emma, damp ground squelching under her boots. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

  Emma shifted foot to foot, and she straightened her back. Her brown eyes flashed with defiance. “I saw Amanda leave the house. And don’t worry about me. I can protect myself this time.” Emma raised her chin at the end of the statement.

  “So I see.” Guinevere eyed the bow with an expression of approval.

  A sharp breeze cut across the open land, and I shivered. A deep sense of foreboding settled in my bones. Something about the area felt wrong, as though the air here weighed me down to the earth, pushing me into the ground. There was a profound history soaked into every molecule surrounding us, as though ghosts walked here.

  “Okay,” I pushed, anxious to understand why she had brought us out here. “Let’s get this party started, shall we?”

  Guinevere approached the water’s edge where the soil grew spongy beneath her feet. “Long ago, a battle took place near here known as the Battle of Camlann.”

  “Arthur’s final battle,” Emma interjected eagerly. “The battle where Mordred killed him.”

  Guinevere glanced over her shoulder and offered Emma a weak smile. “His final battle, yes. However, Arthur didn’t die that day.”

  I opened my mouth to state she had allowed us to believe a different version of events, but Guinevere held her hand up to halt me.

  “I didn’t lie as such. It was simply an omission of the full facts. Something you didn’t need to know, and a secret I needed to protect. You’ll allow me this since we all understand the weight of protecting those we love.”

  The reprimand dissolved on my tongue. Amanda and I exchanged a fleeting look of understanding.

  “Why tell the truth now?” Amanda asked. A distrustful glint sparked in her eyes.

  Guinevere shifted a little and dipped her head forward. She drew Excalibur from the sheath at her side. The blade immediately burst to life, illuminating the area directly around us. Hopefully the residents of the farmhouse weren’t paying attention.

  “The situation has changed, and I believe we will require some answers if we’re to prevent Zeal from becoming unstoppable.” She darted her eyes in the direction of Emma. “Merlin is…absent.”

  Her assessment of Merlin was kinder than mine would have been. I quickly realized she didn’t want to say much because John had been blessed—or cursed—with a mythical Celtic, supernatural ability in the way Arthur had been.

  “So
what did happen to Arthur?” I asked.

  Guinevere frowned harshly. “The battle happened just as I said.” Sharp bitterness laced her tone. “I took him from the battle. He never would have left willingly, but he was unconscious by then and on the edge of death. I brought him here and begged for his life from the gatekeepers to the Otherworld. They refused, but offered me an alternative. I became the Keeper again so Arthur could take my place among the departed in Avalon—Tír na nÓg.”

  “So he isn’t dead?” Emma said.

  Guinevere knelt on one knee on the grass, paying no heed to the mud on her jeans. Very carefully, she placed the tip of the blade in the water. “No.”

  Unsure of what was about to happen, I stepped back and brought Amanda with me.

  Water rippled outward from the blade in a familiar pattern. She was opening a portal.

  Emma edged nearer. She held her bow across the front of her hips, slipping an arrow from over her shoulder. In a well-practiced move, she nocked the arrow and partially drew back the string, keeping the business end aimed at the grass for now.

  Guinevere held fast by the water, her eyes closed in concentration, whispering words I couldn’t understand but recognized as Gaelic.

  Bubbles popped to the surface where the blade touched water before going still as glass once more. Guinevere withdrew Excalibur, and beads of lake water dribbled from the tip.

  “Is that it?” I said, exasperated. “We came out in the middle of the night for bubbles?”

  “Wait,” Guinevere murmured and slid the Excalibur home in its scabbard.

  I took a step forward and a ten-foot-high gush of black water erupted, spilling over like a volcano. I staggered backward, shielding both Amanda and Emma. Emma struggled to break free, raising her bow. The point of an arrow snagged my shoulder accompanied by the sound of ripping fabric.

  “What the hell is that?” Amanda demanded, her voice an octave higher than usual.

  The water cascaded into the lake, forming a rippling pillar, sparkling like black diamonds and reflecting a multitude of shimmering lights, although there was no source I could see.