"Mellias took me in there…He is Lancelot's groom, Mell, isn't he."
"Yes. See, you remember."
"And Merlin played his harp for us. Then I loved Lancelot, then and ever since."
I swung around to snarl at the women drawing near. They backed away as Gwen muttered, "God's blood! God's bones! God's holy mother! I never dreamed you were all Fey!" And she crossed herself.
I said firmly into her confusion, "Lady. Merlin and I have been keeping Mordred's power and influence in check, controlling the knights' responses. But now…" Now what? Now I have lain with your husband; Merlin, therefore, stands alone? "…Now I am powerless. But you and Lancelot together could mend the Round Table and save Arthur's Peace."
Gwen looked up at me so pale her freckles stood out like bruises. "Viviene, we all know that you are a virgin. You do not know what you ask." And, as she thought of what I asked, she gave forth the scents of rose and honeysuckle.
I warned her then. "Arthur will sacrifice you to his crown."
She dropped her eyes and nodded, slowly.
That was her decision. The Fey do not impose their will.
I rose and brushed earth from my gown. "Lady," I told her, "I am called Niviene. Not Viviene."
She nodded. "And I am called Your Majesty."
"I will remember that." Then I turned on my heel and left her and my empty basket among the lavenders.
* * *
From Gwen's garden I went straight to find Lugh.
Lugh paid little heed to us mages in our wicker hut beneath the rampart. After our first joyful reunion, fifteen years before, he had ignored me as much as he could; he did not wish to be linked with us in the court mind. But he did send us messages through Mellias, who lived sometimes with us and sometimes in the stable.
I went now to the stable.
Immediately I was overwhelmed by the sweet, strong scent of new-mown hay. (It brought back powerful memories of childhood; of stealing into village barns with Elana and Lugh; of sleeping in hay, and slipping away in the dawn; of hiding stolen treasures in hay, some of which we forgot. The farmers must have puzzled over them later, as the winter hay supply shrank. "Well! Here's my adze! God's toes, how did it get here?")
On the last day of summer there were neither chargers nor donkeys nor ponies in the barn. They still pastured in the meadows beyond the rampart. Barn cats slunk and slept, mice rustled and crickets sang in the hay; Mellias's pipe sang too, away in a far corner behind hay stacks. It played "Yellow Leaves."
I drifted that way. The pipe paused and I called softly, "Lugh?"
I found Lugh and Otter Mellias cross-legged in the straw, a rough chess board and a skin of ale between them. Lugh must have been the only knight at Arthur's round table, or any other court, who would dally over chess with his ragged groom/squire. Close together like this, they looked a remarkable pair: the giant knight, neatly clad, combed to delight his lady; and the small, grubby groom whose smile showed no cringing servility. Like his mysterious background, like the occasional rages that blew away his reason, this unequal friendship was widely accepted as Sir Lancelot's eccentricity. Who would criticize Sir Lancelot and maybe have to face him?
Otter Mellias's dark face lightened at sight of me. He smiled up at me. Lugh scowled.
I said, "Lugh, I must talk with you." And sat down, uninvited, in the straw. It pricked through my flimsy gown and spread hay seed all over it.
Mellias set the chess board aside and made to rise. Lugh stopped him with a gesture. To me he growled, "Make it speedy." He did not want any connection with mages listed among his eccentricities.
We talked in whispers, for Lugh had nearly lost finger-talk.
"Brother," I said, "the crops are poor this fall."
Lugh shrugged.
"The farmers blame you. You and Gwen."
"Horse shit!"
"When the shortage is felt here in the dun your brother knights will blame you. Hostage Mordred will see to that."
Lugh spat. "It was your idea to bring him back here with us. I would have sliced his head off. Now he slithers about reminding folk of what they forgot before. I know what the adder wants. Do you know, Mage?"
Mellias signed to me, Do not anger him! I signed back, This must be said. But I drew back from Lugh. His giant hands were making fists. I whispered, "Mordred wants Caliburn and the crown, Lugh. What else?"
"The crown, God's balls! Mordred wants my rose!"
"Your rose?"
Mellias signed, The Queen.
"You did not know that, wise Mage?"
Slowly, I admitted, "I was not looking in that direction." But looking there now, I thought of Mordred's dark, sidelong glances, and the way his teeth gleamed between slack, sensuous lips, and the way Gwenevere would walk far around, rather that brush against him.
Lugh muttered, "If he cannot have her he will destroy her." His fists opened and reached for a neck to wring. I drew farther away.
Mellias signaled, All the time now he is close to rage. Do not press him.
But I had to press him. I whispered, "Lugh. This thing, this rule you live by. Chivalry."
Lugh winced as though I had knife-pricked him.
"You remember, even as a boy you loved chivalry…you thought it the highest way of life…Well, if I understand the thing rightly, chivalry means you love Arthur more than your life."
Lugh groaned. Sweat sprang out on his brow, spittle dewed his beard. Lugh hunched and rocked and moaned and sighed. At last he whispered, "Arthur can take care of himself. Know this." Another deep sigh. "I do love Arthur more than my life. But I love my rose more than Arthur. And…I do not know what to do! I do not know what to do! I do not know…"
I leaned to him and gazed into his anguished eyes. As an unborn child asleep in the womb wakes and stretches, so my sleeping power woke in me. I felt it stir, stretch, and reach up my spine, between my shoulders, up the nape of my neck, through the top of my head. And I was inside Lugh's mind.
* * *
Gwenevere sat at her loom, knees wide, freckled hands idle in her embroidered lap. A garden of stitched leaves and flowers crusted her overgown. I, Lancelot, drifted into her lap and the leaves and flowers came alive and aromatic. I smelled honeysuckle and rose. A skylark sang. A harp rippled sweet music.
I stood in sunshine with Gwen's arms tight around my waist and her cheek warm at my throat. I felt her soft heartbeat through over-gown and tunic and breast. Folding her close, I folded the summer world to myself, this sweet earth and all her fruits and pungent herbs and fragrant flowers. Joy like sunlight flooded my world.
Now over the harp music I heard hooves strike rock. Saddles creaked, a horn winded. Knights rode by beyond the garden wall, red and white dragon banners flying. Arthur rode at their head.
I looked up.
Arthur turned in the saddle and looked straight at me—me, Lancelot—and I felt his gaze like a sword-thrust. A cry of grief escaped me.
My life was riding past. The Human glory I had sought, chivalry itself, was riding past. My King looked at me, and rode on. How gladly I would have given all that I had to ride with him! I would have sacrificed anything in the world…but my rose.
The knights passed. Hoofbeats and saddle-creaks faded in distance. Lark-song and harp music returned. But now came one solitary straggler, armed in black, riding a lean black charger. A raven's plume nodded from his black helmet. Under one arm he carried a golden grail. Opposite Gwen and me he drew rein and lifted this grail toward me, as though he asked a question.
I folded Gwen closer.
The black knight pressed heel to his thin horse and passed on. The horse's hooves raised no echo from the earth.
I, Niviene, had felt Lugh's despair. This was Human despair, for Human causes that should never have sullied my brother's mind. Now I searched through that mind for an edge of Fey forest, some lost memory or forgotten face I could seize and wield like a sword, to recall Lugh to his true self.
I found no Fey forest at al
l. No forest, no Lady, no Elana, no sister. In his own sight Lugh was truly Lancelot, wholly Human, a real knight bound by real chivalry to a real king.
Arthur appeared different to Lugh than to me. Where I saw a giant with a triple aura, heavy-fisted, high-minded, and richly attractive, there Lugh saw his sworn king, his life's center.
I was astonished to see Gwen from Lugh's eyes. Here she seemed far lovelier, far sweeter, than I myself had found her; to me, Gwen was a beautiful Human woman like many another, small-minded, small-souled, wrapped in selfishness as in a cloak. To Lugh, she was the Goddess Herself, giver of life and joy, the world's heartbeat.
The world from Lugh's perspective appeared to me to be much as I would imagine it appears to most Humans. To most Humans…
Can you stop a swan from swimming?
Stealing a Human baby is almost as easy as stealing a loaf of bread.
Was my brother Lugh a changeling?
And hadn't I, in truth, suspected as much for years now? Sad and shocked, I withdrew from his mind to find myself back in my body, all prickled in straw.
* * *
I had spent only a breath in Lugh's mind, but he had felt my entrance and withdrawal. He blinked, and drew a hand across his face.
I saw in Mellias's narrowed eyes that he knew what I had done.
So, now I knew Lugh's mind, what remained to be said? "Watch Mordred."
"Never fear for that!"
"And Aefa."
"Aefa? Your shadow?"
"She lies with Mordred."
"Like every slave girl in the dun."
For the sake of Arthur's Peace, I made one last weary effort. "Lugh. I have seen dread omens."
I went on to talk of dreams and ravens, owls, hawks, and storms, some of them real omens Merlin had remarked, most invented on the spot. Lugh's big face darkened and paled and darkened again as I spoke; the Otter curled himself down small and rocked to and fro, either distressed or mocking me, I did not care which.
I finished: "Arthur's doom stands at his door, Lugh. Lancelot. Do not you be the one to open that door."
And I rose up, shook hay seed from my gown, and left them there in the dim stable. I took myself off into sunlight.
10
Mordred's Night
Under Counsel Oak's leafy roof I stand in twilight. Beyond his shade, autumn sun still filters through the apple trees of Avalon. I stand by the black cavern that lightning tore from Counsel's side long ago and look out at the golden light, and listen to Mellias trill his pipe, far away. I recognize the tune, a mournful little song called "Yellow Leaves." I am at home.
Out in the golden light five white deer search for fallen apples. One at a time they raise their heads—four smooth, one antlered—and look at me, and twitch uninterested ears. I am invisible. I am scentless.
A breeze stirs Counsel's leaves above me. "Har…vest" I think they say. I strain my ears but the leaves do not speak till flickered by the next breeze.
"Rest," they say, almost clearly. "Harvest, rest…"
Soon Counsel's leaves will fall. The God will die, to fill the Humans' barns…
"Fall," sigh the leaves. "You fall…we fall…"
A figure staggers out of shadow. Golden light strikes green on ragged gown, silver on long, wild hair.
The Lady reels among the white deer. No ear flicks, no head lifts. The Lady is invisible, scentless, like me. Her brown face has turned Anglo-white; under her rags she is spider-thin.
I yearn toward her. I step toward her, holding out supportive arms.
The Lady walks into my arms; into my chest; out my back; on toward Counsel Oak. I whirl. "Nimway!" I whisper. "Mother!"
She limps and lurches from sunlight into the shadow of Counsel Oak.
"Mama!"
With one skeletal hand she gathers her torn gown close.
"Fall…" the leaves murmur.
She bows her white head and steps into the black lightning-scar, into Counsel's side.
Far away, Mellias's pipe trills "Yellow Leaves."
Before my shocked eyes the lightning scar heals itself. Bark crawls across the entrance.
I run to Counsel Oak. I hammer my fists on his new bark. I tear at it with my nails. The cavern is sealed.
I start, a-tremble and awake.
Still deep in dream-dread, I lay frozen. Mellias's crystal burned against my throat. I opened my eyes and saw Merlin hunched like a shadow over our small fire. His long, even-lengthened fingers spun spells that flickered up the curving wicker wall. Mellias lay asleep on his pallet. Absent Aefa had not touched hers.
Something was amiss. I felt as though I had waked in the forest and sensed the approach of stealthy paws.
I felt as though an owl had called a name.
Beyond our wall the dun was tomb-quiet. Arthur and many of his knights were away. But a sentinel should have paced by on the hard-packed street. A baby could have cried in a nearby hut. Alley cats could have sung.
Merlin saw my open eyes and beckoned.
I struggled up, pulled on a shawl over my shift, and settled crosslegged at the fire, though I could not scry for Merlin. I wondered if he guessed that.
Merlin said with his fingers, Aefa?
I signed, Mordred.
Merlin grimaced. Do not trust Aefa.
Not now.
Aefa is man-crazy; Mordred is handsome.
I know.
We know what Mordred wants.
I thought of my journey into that dark mind and nodded. Merlin signed, He will not wait forever. Arthur will not give him Caliburn!
No? Remember, Mordred is his nephew. Almost his friend. Mordred bade Arthur leave the dun tonight. Arthur left. Merlin leaned to me. Niviene. Arthur's Peace nears its end.
Yes.
Merlin had scried this in bird-flight, wind-shifts, stars, fire, water. I knew it as any Human might know it—by watching, listening, sniffing.
Merlin signed, Mordred snakes. Mordred pokes here, there, underfoot, in pocket. Hisses of Gwenevere.
I warned her she courts death.
Arthur will sacrifice her?
Yes, he will.
You know Arthur.
I stared into the flickering coals. Merlin sucked in his breath and uttered, "Hah!"
The sharp pain in my head was Merlin, withdrawing. As I firegazed, he had entered my mind. He stared at me, appalled. He signed, Arthur's Peace is doomed because you lost power.
I bowed my head.
Merlin thrust his hands under my nose to signal, You love Arthur.
I drew back away, insulted. I cannot love.
How often have you lain with Arthur?
Once. Twice.
Merlin assured me, Your power will return. No one is always powerful.
Even you?
Softly, he snorted. Now you know Arthur. Will he sacrifice his wife, friends?
Absolutely.
No doubt?
None.
When I led you here. The first day. Arthur knew you.
Yes.
You had met.
Yes.
Tell.
I translated one of Merlin's own songs into finger-talk. Lonely hunter…enchanted wood…white deer…maiden. And I added, Flowering Moon.
Merlin sat back to absorb this, his face in shadow. Gods! he signed at last, Good thing you let him live! He thought further. I watched him make the connection he had to make. Your child!
I nodded.
Holy Goddess! Mother Earth! If I had known that…Merlin leaned back into light. The sorrow on his face nearly matched my own.
I knew his thoughts. My little Bran could have been Arthur's heir. Merlin could have carried him off to some monastery—maybe to Gildas—and had him taught. Merlin could have produced Bran as he had produced Arthur. Merlin could have been druid to three high kings—Uther, Arthur, and Bran!
I shivered. My little Bran could have grown up Human. He could have joined battle and killed nine hundred men. He could have sat in judgment and ordered
fellow Humans drowned or hanged. He might be alive today.
Or he might not. The Human world has its risks and dangers, and there is such a thing as Fate. But I was deeply glad that I had not known, myself, the identity of Bran's father.
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