Heirs of Avalon: The passage

by Béatrice Mary

  Melora hesitated, then her curiosity won her over.

  “Alright, I’ll go with you… But only to attend the conference.”

  “Oh, thank you! You really are my best friend.”

  She gave her friend a loud smack on the cheek and a tight hug, so tight that Melora grimaced and said, “You’re suffocating me!”

  Caroline released her. “I have to go shopping Saturday – I don’t have anything to wear!”

  “But it’s two months away!”

  “Yes, just enough time to find the perfect outfit.”

  Melora chuckled, shaking her head as she adjusted the heavy strap of her book bag on her shoulder.

  “You going out?” Caroline asked. “I thought we could get a coffee at Sugarplum’s.”

  “I’m off to the library, but not for too long. I’ll meet you there in an hour.”

  Melora wanted to consult the manuscript of an eminent twelfth-century poet that she had reserved long before. That era had always attracted her, and had now developed into a passion. She loved to lose herself in works that carried her back to the Middle Ages, especially any writings that mentioned Brittany, as they made her feel at home.

  Thanks to this preoccupation, she’d found numerous works on the subject of King Arthur. This myth ended up intriguing her, and she had given herself a mission to trace a line back to the very first writings that spoke of his existence. Up until now, her researches had brought her back as far as the seventh century, but there were hints indicating he might have lived during the preceding century.

  Melora strode across the school cloister and through its galleries, which hemmed in a magnificent, peaceful garden, over to the imposing stone staircase. Thick columns supported its vaults, and statues of the four prophets of the Virgin Mary watched over it. She went up three flights to the Baroque rotunda, from where four spokes led to four galleries completely dedicated to knowledge. She lingered to admire the angels and the exotic flora carved into the pillars and the fresco on the ceiling representing the triumph of St Augustine.

  Melora had spent many days within these walls, but she never grew tired of observing the works of the ancient abbey monks. Suddenly, she felt that someone was watching her. She looked around, and met the eyes of a young man, probably a senior. He had wavy blond hair that grew down to his shoulders, a captivating smile and brown eyes that appraised her as he walked toward her with an air of nonchalance, confidence and calm force. Melora swallowed hard, as his charm was uncontestable.

  “Hi, there,” he greeted her. “Is the book you’re looking for?”

  He handed her a manuscript, which she took gingerly, spying its fragile, old binding.

  “How did you know I reserved it?” she asked, wary.

  “Because they’ve asked me twice now to bring it back. Apparently, someone’s in a big hurry to consult it.”

  Melora blushed. “They usually don’t let people take books like this Wace to leave the library. How is it they let you take it?”

  “I have my little ways,” he responded evasively. “I always manage to get what I want.”

  At the same time, he looked deep into Melora’s eyes.

  This troubled her, and to hide it, she hastily said, “Thanks for taking the trouble to bring it back… I don’t think we’ve ever met. My name’s Melora.”

  “Evan,” he said, still staring at her. “The pleasure’s all mine.”

  “I’ve never seen you before,” she said, trying to avoid looking at his full, perfect lips. “What class are you in?”

  “I just arrived.”

  “But this is the third trimester.”

  He shrugged. “My dad’s work required him to move to Paris recently.”

  “Well… Welcome to Henri IV, Evan… But, uh, excuse me, but I’ve got to go meet a friend,” she babbled.

  “No problem. We’ll be sure to see each other again,” he said with a wry smile.

  She left the library, her legs a little wobbly. What was wrong with her? She had never been sensitive to masculine charm, not since Gabriel anyway. At that word, his face floated before her – his merry blue eyes looking at her tenderly, giving her a pang in the heart. It vexed her to think of him though, and she pushed the image from her mind.

  At the café, she saw Caroline at a table behind the front window. She went in and joined her, passing a group of students sitting at tables against a stone wall. Her friend was seated next to a shelf of appetizing pastries, and she had succumbed to the temptation of a plate of cupcakes to go with the steaming cup of coffee in front of her.

  “You’re here already?” Caroline exclaimed. “I expected you a lot later. Did you get what you needed?”

  “Yes, a student helped me,” Melora replied, avoiding the details, and smiling at the young woman who’d arrived to take her order. But Caroline was too alert for her, and noticed she was trying to hide some embarrassment. Narrowing her eyes, she peered at Melora.

  “What student?”

  Melora waited for the server to go away before mumbling, “I don’t know who he is – he’s just arrived. I think he said his name was Evan…”

  “Evan Boissand?” Caroline asked, sounding excited.

  “Do you know him?”

  “Are you crazy? He’s the principal’s nephew,” she crowed, “He’s too cute! Tell me about him, tell me!”

  Melora frowned. “There’s nothing to tell, just that he had the book I wanted, so he brought it back and gave it to me. Now I understand why he got permission to take it out of the library.”

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t fall under his spell, ‘cause I won’t believe you.”

  She laughed out loud when she saw her friend’s cheeks turn red.

  “I didn’t say that,” Melora muttered.

  The server brought her tea, and they ate cupcakes, laughing and gossiping for a long while before going back to the dorms.

  After that day, she met Evan regularly. He never hid his intentions to win her, and in his presence she felt wrapped in a soft warmth. She appreciated his attentions but when his lips brushed hers for the first time, she didn’t feel the same sensations she’d felt with Gabriel the day of their last swim together, and he hadn’t even kissed her; he had simply looked at her in a certain way, a look that had made her feel butterflies in her stomach.

  Why does everything always have to go back to him? she thought, irritated.

  Gabriel, her only friend from childhood, had left her hanging without any explanation, so why should she still give him a place in her thoughts? It was Evan who deserved her interest, as he was gentle and caring, intelligent, charismatic and handsome.

  On her birthday three weeks later, he gave her a gold bracelet right in front of her best friend, her mother and godmother, who had made the trip to Paris for this special occasion. It wasn’t every day you turned eighteen! They ate in a fancy restaurant that Viviane had chosen, and spent an agreeable evening together.

  Caroline gave her a wonderful pair of black high-heels, whose red soles made the brand easily identifiable. Her mother had bought a gorgeous vanity case for her, filled with the entire line of associated products and her favorite perfume. For some time now, Melora had preferred sweet, muted fragrances of rose, iris and raspberry. They were superb gifts, but the one that touched her the most was her godmother’s: an original edition of Historia Brittonum dating from the ninth century, which contained references to King Arthur as leader of the Britons and recounted the dozen battles he’d led against the Saxons.

  “But how in the world did you find this?” marveled Melora. “It’s impossible!”

  She caressed the cover with trembling fingers. “I know of only one manuscript from the ninth century, and it’s not for sale.”

  “This one dates from the seventh century, and it’s always belonged to our family.”

  Melora looked at it with her mouth hanging open, aware of what this implied: she had the oldest known manuscript in her hands. Profoundly moved, she warmly thanked her
godmother. The party ended with a great show of emotion; and it was with a light heart that she went home with Caroline.

  The next morning, she lay in bed under the blankets for a long time, stretching lazily. She was having difficulty waking up.

  “Up and at ‘em!” Caroline reprimanded her. “You know what day it is today? We’re going to be late.”

  Yeah, yeah… Melora thought with an inner groan.

  There was no chance she could forget. For the last several days, her friend had been pounding her eardrums about this visit to the Sorbonne. Caroline had already showered, and was dressed and done up as if for a gala event. She was all ready to go, and started showing her irritation that Melora was lingering in bed. So she sighed and got up, then got ready, dragging her feet and grumbling. She was not optimistic about how the day would go.

  After showering, she pulled on a pair of jeans that flattered her curvy figure, and a light-blue sleeveless sweater. Small blue flowers with white polka dots graced one of the shoulders, and she found that the ensemble gave her too much of a soft, romantic look, so she added sexy high-heeled boots and a short jacket in black leather. She blow-dried her hair, brushing it until it tumbled down her back in beautiful, shiny curls. She finished up with some light makeup, and gave a quick look at the mirror to make sure of the result.

  At last she was ready. The two friends grabbed their purses and headed out. The Sorbonne was only a few hundred yards from the Lycée, just behind the Pantheon. They reached the meeting point, the law studies building, and sat down in the plaza in front of its imposing entrance, which was graced with immense columns. Engraved in the stone above the blue door were three treasured words: “Liberty, Fraternity, Equality.” A crowd of students mingled around them, and Caroline peered every which way, searching for her as yet unknown soul-mate.

  “Stop it!” Melora complained. “You’re making me dizzy.”

  “You can say that – you’ve already got your Prince Charming,” Caroline protested.

  As if it were enough to just mention his name for him to appear, Evan, elegantly dressed, approached right then with his uncle, the principal, and the French professor.

  After gathering the high-school students, the teachers had them enter the hall for some final words of advice, then everyone took off in the direction they wished, a map of the university in hand.

  Melora wanted to visit a part of the Sorbonne a few buildings away. She’d always been attracted to the idea of a career dealing with law and justice, and was playing with the idea of pursuing legal studies. So, leaving Caroline in animated conversation with the young man she had snared, Melora entered a side-street that according to the map led to another entrance on Rue des Ecoles. The ‘Grand Amphitheater’ was not far, and that was where the conference was to be held an hour later.

  When she entered the court of honor, she suddenly felt intimidated by the dignity of the place, with its statues of Victor Hugo and Louis Pasteur seated at each side of a huge staircase leading to the chapel. The famous Frenchmen seemed to be protecting the door, which was framed by tall Corinthian* columns.

  After wandering for a while, she came back to reality and headed toward the arcade leading to the Grand Amphitheater. Going around a bend in the hall, she ran straight into a man, who was also walking fast. She raised her eyes and opened her mouth to excuse herself, but the words died on her lips. Before her stood a tall man with wide shoulders and a lean, athletic body, his turquoise-blue eyes staring at her with astonishment.

  “Melora?” the stranger asked in a deep but cordial voice.

  She stared back at him, still unable to emit the slightest sound, and her heart seemed to have stopped beating. It was Gabriel! Melora noted the subtle changes in his face, no longer that of a teenager, but of a man, a man with diabolically seductive features. The angular cheekbones gave him a virile air and his full lips were outrageously sensual. Long eyelashes accentuated the glitter of his magnificent blue eyes.

  She gasped, trying to recover her breath. Suddenly, she remembered all the pain she had felt years ago when he had abandoned her without a word.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked him in a bitter voice.

  “Well, I’m happy to see you, too!”

  His smile made her melt.

  “I… I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I’m so surprised to meet you here, Gabriel.”

  They surveyed each other, frozen in the intensity of the moment. She managed to bring a smile to her lips.

  He immediately looked away so she wouldn’t notice his emotions, and with a superhuman effort, he maintained an impassible face as he explained, “I’m with Professor Deen, to help with the younger students during our trip to Paris.”

  “Ah… nice…” Feeling ridiculous, she quickly got a hold of herself and added, “How long will you be here?”

  “Sadly, I have only two more days. Do you want to show me around the city tomorrow night? I’d like to invite you to dinner to forgive me – it wasn’t very nice on my part to leave for England without saying goodbye.”

  He adopted a contrite air, absolutely irresistible. He was so breathtakingly handsome that Melora bumbled her words: “That’s a tru – or rather, much the least, you could say…”

  She stopped, and after a second’s hesitation, she added, “My classes end at five o’clock.”

  “Great, I’ll pick you up in front of the Lycée at seven,” he responded confidently, and turned away without waiting for a reply.

  Melora simply stood there and watched him walk off. A flood of conflicting emotions coursed through her body, immobilizing her. Anger and joy battled together, but then a delicious burning sensation in her chest spread intense heat throughout her body and dominated both. With a tottering step, she continued walking toward the amphitheater.

  What did I do? I should never have invited her out!

  I was angry with myself. My imagination had awoken desires far different from that of the merely friendly relations I wanted to maintain with Melora. With a great effort, I managed to silence them. I couldn’t forget that my mission in Paris was not Melora!

  Despite these reproaches and the knowledge that I was playing a dangerous game, I couldn’t help reliving our meeting. She had grown into such an attractive young woman. Shaking my head to get her out of my thoughts, I concentrated on the present and hurried to meet the professor Deen before the conference started.

  “Here’s your permission slip to get into the library,” he said, handing me a cardboard pass. “Are you ready?”

  “I’m ready,” I answered nonchalantly. “The library doesn’t close until eight, so I’ll head there right after the conference and find the manuscript.”

  Deen nodded and opened the door to the amphitheater.

  After the conference, I slipped out and headed to the library. On entering the room dedicated to Antiquity and the Middle Ages, I was surprised at how many students were there. The library catalogue was voluminous, but after a few minutes it became obvious that I wasn’t going to find what I was looking for here. There was nothing about a work referring to Merlin’s work. Frustrated, I set to thinking about the quote again. “Merlin is to be found where knowledge sleeps. Taliesin will reveal him.”

  And yet, after so much research, I’d been sure I would find what I was looking for here. I repeated it again in my head: Merlin is to be found where knowledge sleeps. Taliesin will reveal him.

  I decided to consult William Taliesin’s book again. I’d already looked through the copy in the Cambridge library but hadn’t found anything; perhaps the edition here would give me new information. The book was available but could not be loaned out, as it was an original edition. I could only examine it in the Rare Book room. The reference librarian insisted on credentials or supporting documents in order to let me to consult the book. I gave her my pass, but had nothing else in the way of authorization, so when she refused, I had to use an obedience spell on her, even though I hated forcing people to do what I wanted –
it made me uncomfortable. After I mentally pronounced the spell, she changed her mind and walked with me up the big staircase to the fourth floor. She left me in a room there, and thirty minutes later came back with the manuscript, a big smile on her face.

  Apparently I had been very lucky. The document was usually kept in a crypt and required four hours’ notice to be consulted, but someone had requested it that morning, so it was still on hand.

  “Can you tell me if the person who reserved it has already been here?”

  “Not that I know of,” she said, shrugging.

  She left the room and I was finally alone with the book. I started reading, but a question kept distracting me: Who could be interested in this book?

  I decided I’d better be on my guard.

  Taliesin’s book was written in old Welsh. It contained about fifty poems, some of which were considered the oldest ever written in Welsh. Only twelve were attributed to Taliesin, all singing the praises of the different kings he had served, but one notable poem dating from the tenth century particularly interested me.

  I read the title aloud: “Preiddeu Annwn.”

  This meant “Annwn’s Plunder.” It was one of the first Welsh poems mentioning King Arthur, and it related his voyage with his men to Caer Siddle, the Castle of the Fairies, to bring back a magic cauldron.

  I spent hours searching through the manuscript without discovering the least helpful new element.

  The end of the day was fast approaching, and to my great frustration, I still had no information about where I could find Merlin’s spell book; I could not find it. However, those familiar prickling sensations in my veins told me the answer was hidden between the lines of this manuscript. I felt the energy amplifying in my body and my sight started to blur, so I concentrated on breathing slowly and gaining control of my emotions.