Ravens of Avalon: Avalon
Page 3
your belly, and then, if you like, we can pay a visit to Coventa and you
can assure yourself that she is well.”
In the week after Coventa’s near-drowning, a last rainstorm sent
waters laughing through the cleared bed of the stream. Then the weather
turned warm, as if the spirit of the stream, having been propitiated, had
brought the spring. It was not until the night of the new moon that Lhi-
annon had a chance to speak with Ardanos.
As they passed through the woods toward the grove he had slowed
his usual swift step to match hers. He was barely taller than she, and
wiry in build rather than muscular, but he had a natural authority and
other men respected him. He was whistling softly. She blushed as she
realized it was a song he had written for her—
“My love is a girl with hair like golden flax,
With eyes like the summer sky,
The reeds bow down in envy at her walk,
The swaying willows sigh . . .”
Seeing her response, he laughed. “And how is our Iceni princess set-
tling in?” he asked.
“Rather too aware that she is a princess, I fear,” answered Lhiannon.
She lowered her voice as a group of younger priests moved past them,
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their robes a pale blur in the dusk. “But she is a natural leader. She
might make a priestess, if she can learn humility.”
“Ah well, she wouldn’t be the first to have that problem . . .” Ardanos
replied.
He meant Helve. Lhiannon followed his gaze. Long ago this part of
the forest had been planted with a triple circle of oaks whose dagged
leaves rustled softly in the evening wind. The moon glimmered like a
curved river pearl caught in a net of branches. The cloaks of the priest-
esses made a dark blot beneath the trees. She gave his hand a squeeze of
agreement before she crossed the grass to join them.
“Lhiannon, your presence honors us,” said Helve. She was a senior
priestess, and almost as talented as she thought she was. Lhiannon could
not quite tell if she spoke in mockery. “Were the girls diffi
cult to settle
for the night?”
If you had been there, she thought, you would not need to ask.
“That new one, the Iceni girl, will bear watching—perhaps I should
take her for special training,” Helve went on.
“You are the Mistress of the House of Maidens,” Lhiannon said qui-
etly, but she was thinking, if you want to teach Boudica, I suggest you begin
by learning her name!
She was not sure whether to hope Helve took the girl off her hands
or to fear it. Boudica was just as proud as the priestess, and might be
even more stubborn. The girl might rebel, or worse still, Helve might
encourage her in arrogance rather than teach her humility.
A shimmer of bells sounded from across the circle. Escorted by her
handmaidens, the High Priestess was emerging from among the trees.
Moving with the pace of ritual, Mearan’s stout figure had a balanced
grace. Though all the community worshipped together, the moon rites
belonged to the priestesses, as the priests took charge of the solar rituals,
and this was the Lady’s hour.
“Behold, O my children, how the Maiden Moon shines above us.”
The voice of the High Priestess rang across the circle. “She is early to
rise and early to seek her bed—young and full of promise, like the chil-
dren who have come to study here. From us they will learn our ancient
tradition. But what will we learn from them? This eve ning we ask the
Goddess to open our hearts and our minds. For though the wisdom of
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D i ana L . Pax s on
the old ones endures, the world is ever changing, and the meaning of
that wisdom changes as well. It will profit us nothing to stay safe on our
island if we grow so apart from the people we are here to serve that they
cannot understand our words.”
The circle was silent. In the oak grove, a dove called once, and then
was still. Focusing on her link to the earth, Lhiannon tried to let her
tensions drain away. The hush deepened as the others did the same, and
the circle’s silence became charged with energy.
The High Priestess approached the standing stone in its center. “To
you, beloved Lady, we bring these offerings.” One by one her hand-
maidens laid the spring flowers they carried upon the stone, and Lhian-
non and the other priestesses moved inward to surround them.
“Holy Goddess, holy Goddess . . .” Women’s voices soared, invok-
ing the sacred name in woven harmonies.
“Upon these holy ancient trees
Now cast thy lovely silver light;
Uncloud thy face that we may see
Unveiled, its shining in the night—”
Mearan stood before the altar, hands lifted in adoration. As the song
continued, the moonlight seemed to focus around her, as sweetly and
gently the Goddess entered in. Her stout figure was growing taller, her
face radiant; she shone with power. Forgotten now was the face of wrath
the Goddess showed when men called her as Raven of Battle. It was the
sweet Lady of the Silver Wheel who had come to them here.
“Holy Goddess, holy Goddess . . .” the men were chanting, as if the
solid earth had found a voice to reply.
“Shine forth upon the fertile earth,
Shine bright upon the sounding sea;
Send down thy tender light to bless
All living things that pray to thee.”
The Goddess turned, hands opening in benediction. In Her deep
gaze they found forgiveness, understanding, love.
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Lhiannon sighed, releasing the last of her resentment. And as if that
had been the offering awaited, she felt her soul filling with white peace.
Ah, Boudica, this is what we have to off er you—a stray thought came to her.
I hope that one day you will understand . . . Then that, too, was gone and
there was only the light.
It was not until autumn that Boudica’s turn to serve Lady Mearan
came. The High Priestess occupied a large roundhouse at the edge of
the Sacred Grove. Each moon two maidens and one of the younger
priestesses would join her there.
Boudica told herself there was no reason to be nervous. She had
served in the dun of a great king. But kings only wielded physical
power. Life among the Druids was not full of signs and wonders, but in
the six months since she arrived she had glimpsed enough strangeness to
know that the power was there. And yet in daily life the High Priestess
seemed little different from any other woman of her years. She slid her
arms into the sleeves of her tunica one at time, and got tangled if her
attendants had folded the garment wrong. But when the High Priestess
was looking at her, Boudica could always feel her gaze.
In the house of the High Priestess, the sweet scent of drying herbs
mingled with the smoke of the hearthfire, and there was always a copper
kettle of water for tea hanging over the coals. The on
ly sounds were the
murmur of women’s voices, the crackle of the fire, and the whisper of
falling rain. On one such eve ning, when the dusk had drawn in early,
Boudica found herself alone with the High Priestess while the others
fetched food for the eve ning meal. She tensed as the older woman mo-
tioned her to sit nearby.
“So, have you been happy with us here?” Mearan asked.
The girl ventured a quick glance at the priestess. Age had loosened
the flesh that covered the strong bones, but the woman’s dark eyes were
like a deep pool into which excuses or prevarications would simply dis-
appear.
“I like Lys Deru,” Boudica said abruptly. “But I have no talent for
the things you do, and I don’t like being treated like a baby because I
can’t do them . . .”
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D i ana L . Pax s on
“To see what must be done and lead others to do it is a gift as well,”
said the priestess. “Do not be so certain you know all that you can and
cannot do . . .”
Boudica was trying to find the words to ask what she meant when
she heard voices at the door. Mandua shouldered through, followed by
Lhiannon and Coventa, all laden with food. They were followed by a
gust of stinging rain.
“This looks splendid,” said the High Priestess. “And the water in my
kettle is near the boil, so we shall have tea soon.”
“And bannocks?” asked Coventa hopefully.
“As soon as the stone is hot,” answered Boudica, pouring a little fat
into the bowl of ground oats. It was pleasant to listen to the rain lashing
the trees outside while sitting with friends beside a good fire. She dribbled
sour milk into the mixture, working it into a paste, sprinkled oatmeal
onto a flat board, and turned the mixture onto it, coating her fi ngers with
more meal before she began to knead. The ruddy light colored the long
folds of the robes that hung from the house posts and touched the shapes
of less identifiable bags and boxes with magic. Probably, she thought, they
were magic—herbs and stones and bits of this and that, the things a Druid
needed for her spells.
Coventa flicked a drop of tea onto the flat slab of slate they had
placed on the coals. As it sizzled, Boudica patted the dough into a circle
and swiftly quartered it. A splash of fat upon the stone and it was ready
for the bannock. In moments, the warm smell of baking oatcake began
to mingle with the other scents in the room.
“Listen to the wind!” said Mandua, shivering.
“It whispers stories of all the places it has been,” Coventa agreed.
“Or shouts them,” corrected Boudica, listening to the framework of
branches that supported the conical thatched roof flex as a new gust hit.
Lhiannon smiled. “On such a night I always think of those who
braved the storms to reach this island. They say that the first wise folk to
dwell on Avalon came there from a great island that was overwhelmed
by the sea.”
“But how did the Druids get here?” asked Coventa, scooping the
toasted bannocks from the stone into a basket.
“It seems an appropriate night for the story . . .” Lady Mearan
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drizzled a little honey on her bannock and took a bite with a satisfi ed
sigh. “Those first Oak priests must have found the ocean frightening
when they came here, following the first Celtic warleaders to see this
land. Their people had grown great, and their clans spiraled outward in
every direction. Some fared north to settle Gallia, and from there they
ventured to these isles.”
“The Atrebates are of the Belgic tribes, which were the last to
come here, and so are the princes who rule the Iceni lands,” added Lhi-
annon. “Though there is older blood in the people they rule.” She
turned back to the High Priestess. “Who was the first of our Order to
come to Avalon?”
“The first?” Mearan smiled. “There is a tradition that it was not a
priest who came first to Avalon, but a priestess, fleeing the destruction
of her dun in one of the early wars. Her name was Catuera. The winter
storms had been fierce, so that Avalon was indeed an island. In such
weather, when the mists lie close upon the marshlands, it is easy to lose
your way. Catuera blundered through the mists, soaked and shivering,
until she came . . .” Mearan paused for a sip of tea.
“To Avalon?” Coventa said eagerly.
The priestess shook her head. “She came to a place with neither sun
nor moon, where the trees are always in fruit and in flower. And the
queen of its people, who have been here longer than any human folk on
these isles, took her in. For a time out of time she stayed there, and
when she was healed, she passed through the mists once more. That was
how she came to Avalon.”
“Were priestesses living there?” asked Boudica.
“Priestesses and priests,” Mearan replied. “Descended from the
mingling of the first people in these islands and the masters of high
magic who had come from the Drowned Lands. But there was this
difference—while among those early Druids the priestesses were pres-
ent only to serve the priests in the rituals, on Avalon priest and priestess
worked together, and it was the Lady of Avalon who wielded the greater
power.”
“And that is still the difference between our Order here and the way
it is, or was, in Gallia,” added Lhiannon.
“The wisewomen of Avalon taught Catuera, and sent her back to
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make peace between her people and the men of the old race, and though
wars and raids continued, they were never so evil as they had been, and
in the end we became one people as we are today.”
“And all men honor our priestesses . . .” added Coventa in satis-
faction.
“Let us take care to deserve that reverence,” said Lhiannon.
T WO
One is for the Source, the Divine Origin, nameless, unknowable,
beyond perception,” chanted the boys and girls who sat beneath the ash
tree.
For the first time in weeks the clouds had let through a little sun-
shine, and the teachers had brought their charges out to enjoy it. Arda-
nos had sent the bardic students to practice beyond the grove. Even their
mistakes sounded sweet in the spring air.
Truth may be forever One, thought Lhiannon, but its manifestations in
the world are always changing. The thought made her shiver.
“Two is for the God and the Goddess, male and female, light and
darkness, all opposites that meet and part and join once more.” She
spoke the words unthinking, then paused.
Spring was giving way to summer. In another week they would
light the Beltane fires. At the festivals when man and woman lay down
together to bring the power of the Lord and the Lady into the world,
only those priestesses who had vowed virginity for the sake of the
higher magics stayed apart. She cast a quick glance at Ardanos, who sat
on the other si
de of the circle, and felt the hot blood heat her cheeks.
Even from across the circle she could feel his desire for her. When
winter chilled all fires it was easy to deny the body’s demands, but when
the sun kindled new life in every leaf and blade of grass, she remem-
bered that she was young, and in love.
“Three is for the Divine Child that is born of their union, and three
the faces of the Goddess who gives life to the world.” The spring sun
filtered down through the new leaves, crowning the students with light.
Coventa’s fair hair shimmered silver- gilt, and behind her she glimpsed
a bent head like a blazing fire that could only be Boudica.
Were these the only children Lhiannon would ever have? Once
more she glanced at Ardanos. She might dream of bearing him a child,
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D i ana L . Pax s on
but she had never cared much for babies. Let others create bodies—here
at Mona, she and Ardanos formed minds and souls.
She wanted to sit in the seat of prophecy and soar through the heav-
ens, but she also desired the wiry strength of his arms around her. The
se nior Druids taught that one must choose between the body and the
soul. Lhiannon’s lips continued to move as the chant droned on, but her
mind was far away.
As the young people trooped back toward Lys Deru, Lhiannon
could hear them speculating on what they had heard. Boudica in partic-
u lar seemed thoughtful. It was about time. After a little more than a
year the girl still sometimes acted like—a Roman visiting barbarians.
But Boudica was forgotten as Lhiannon felt a warmth at her side and
turned to fi nd Ardanos there. Her whole body flushed with response as
he took her hand.
“When I read the heavens, they tell me that Beltane is near . . .”
he said softly. “Will you dance with me when they light the festal
fi re?”
Will you lie with me? He did not need to say the words aloud.
The priests said that the flow of energy in the body was altered
when a woman lay with a man, blocking the channels through which
power flowed in prophecy. But what hope did Lhiannon have of sitting
on the Oracle’s stool as long as Helve was the priests’ darling? The en-
ergy that flowed between man and woman raised another kind of power.
Was she a fool to refuse that ecstasy for the sake of an opportunity that