Guinevere's Tale

by Nicole Evelina

  The hypnotizing motion of his fingertips stopped.

  “And you, my little priestess.” He clasped my hand. “Have you any regrets?”

  Images of an alternate life—the one I would have led had I stayed with my family—raced through my mind. I saw myself with my childhood friends at play in Northgallis or studying under the watchful gaze of a tutor.

  I shook my head. “My life here has taught me to have faith in that which I cannot see”—I found myself leaning into him as I spoke—“in what can only be felt.”

  We fell silent, lost in the energy that pulsed in the scant space between us. I tried to convince myself that it was the power of the intersecting ley lines, but to no avail. This energy, this blinding, throbbing force drew me toward Aggrivane; in my innocence, I did not understand it, but I was powerless to resist it.

  Overhead, a shooting star illuminated the velvet sky. Startled, we both looked up.

  Aggrivane’s face lit up with a different kind of fire. “It is the first herald,” he exclaimed. “Three shooting stars in the vicinity of the triune precede the comet’s appearance.” Then his face clouded over with disappointment. “Now is the time for us to work our magic if we are to gain access to the answers we seek.”

  Absorbed in what had passed between us, I had almost forgotten the reason for our nocturnal vigil. Hastily, I slipped out of his arms and over to the edge of the spring, where I peered purposefully into its depths.

  The waters shone inky blue and green in the dim light of midnight. In the soft light of the slender moon, I caught a glimpse of the smooth stones lining the bottom. I inhaled deeply, determined to free my mind to the will of the Goddess. A soft breeze caressed my cheek, and I breathed in the heavy perfume of honeysuckle from a hedge somewhere nearby. Slowly, my consciousness sank into the murky depths of the nothingness that separated our world from the celestial plane. Deeper and deeper down I forced my mind, but I still saw nothing but darkness.

  Frustrated, I looked up in time to see the second herald paint the sky the color of dawn with its shimmering streak of light. Aggrivane was performing complex mental calculations known only to the Druids, eyes on the sky, darting to and fro in rapt concentration.

  I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. I projected my senses outward until the vibration of the Tor behind me pulsed in my veins. I willed myself free of my body and allowed my soul to sink into the void between worlds—into the silent depths of eternity that existed before the Goddess gave birth to the world. Again, I reached the point where visions should start to form, but they did not. I could not seem to pierce the veil.

  I cursed under my breath.

  Without taking his eyes from the sky, Aggrivane reached out to me. “What is it? What do you see?” he asked, standing to get a better view of the sky.

  “Nothing,” I replied, defeated.

  “Why don’t you try one more time?” he encouraged. Without waiting for my answer, he knelt down on the grass behind me, placing his arms around my waist, hands on top of my own.

  “But what about the stars?”

  He gave a small laugh. “I can see them in the reflection of the water. Have no fear.” He pulled me to him and murmured into my hair. “Remember the power that was given to you when you were made a priestess.”

  His voice was soothing, and I slowly melted into a trance. I relaxed against him and breathed in his scent, the smell of oak and apple wood. Soon my heart beat the same slow, two-note rhythm drumming in his chest.

  His fingers intertwined with mine. “You know the power of the Goddess. Invoke her into you and let yourself be free.”

  The surface of the water rippled with his breath and my vision turned inward; I no longer had need of any sense save that of touch. Everywhere Aggrivane’s body met mine, we seemed to be as one, exchanging energy as if there were no bounds between us—no space, no clothing, not even skin. His lips grazed my neck, the stubble around his mouth tickling my skin invitingly, and suddenly the veil that separated me from the spirit world was lifted.

  “The third herald,” Aggrivane said softly.

  His voice reached me as if from a great distance. While the star lit the sky, in the depths of the water danced a vision older than the standing stones. Fires blazed in low pits on the hillside. A man more animal than human stood on the edge of the forest, naked but for the antlered crown on his brow and the blood painted on his flesh. Above him on a hill stood a woman, also nude, her billowing hair radiant as the sun, her bare breasts mirrors of the full moon that shone in the sky above her.

  The woman came to him and bade him to drink from a golden cup, after which she did the same and led him to a secluded grove. There she opened herself to him, and he poured out his seed in the fertile plain of her body.

  “The old ways must be kept. Remember the old ways,” a chorus of voices chanted in my mind.

  I came back to myself suddenly, panting as if I had run the length of the isle, my body held upright only by Aggrivane’s arms, strong as the trunks of a pair of ancient oaks. Saying nothing, I spun around and kissed him full on the mouth. He seemed surprised but willing. Too soon, light like the midsummer sun pierced the darkness behind my closed eyes. Squinting, I opened one eye and pulled away.

  “The firedrake!”

  We both stared in awe at the wonder before us. The firedrake was many times larger than the heralds that preceded it, and even the moon seemed dim in comparison. Its long tail stretched across the sky, led by a fiery head that resembled a snarling dragon. It streaked through the night, accompanied by a shriek that could have raised the ancients from their resting places. Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

  Merlin gathered everyone together the next morning following sunrise salutations. He sat on the top of the sanctuary stairs, holding court with Argante and Viviane. The other Druids and priestesses gathered around on the steps below. Their voices blended into a low buzz as they speculated on the meaning of the firedrake and the mysterious visions and other phenomenon reported following the comet’s appearance last night.

  I watched Merlin, in awe of his power of attraction, a gift that flowed as easy as breath. He was a lodestone, able to draw anyone to him when he wished, but equally capable of keeping them away when he willed it. This gift, or illusion, as some called it, never failed to both thrill and unsettle me when he was near.

  As Merlin held council with the isle’s eldest and most powerful, he appeared perfectly comfortable in his role as the youngest Archdruid in living memory, directing and counseling with the wisdom of a man who had seen six decades, rather than only three. Though he bore great responsibility, his face remained unlined, pale as fresh milk, intense, with knowing eyes the color of the lake. Some said his bright copper hair, which in many ways reminded me of Morgan’s, marked his bloodline as descended from the earliest races of our land, those who were part fae and bore greater resemblance to gods than men. Maybe that was where his commanding presence came from. He certainly could inspire fear and awe in equal measure, depending on his mood.

  Tearing my gaze away from Merlin, I chanced a glance at Aggrivane, who stood next to me. I was doing my best to hide my nervousness and pretend nothing had changed between us, but we both knew it had. I was finding it difficult to meet his eyes without immediately flushing, but every so often he would catch my gaze and hold it with a smile that made my heart melt. Hesitantly, he brushed my fingertips with his and I nearly gasped at the spark that ran up my arm. Looking up at him with a timid smile, I entwined my fingers with his and bit my lip, bashfully turning my attention back to the activity at the top of the stairs.

  Merlin’s long red hair shone in the early morning light as he leaned in toward Viviane, the two whispering in an intimate manner. We all knew Merlin fairly well because he visited the isle several times a year to conduct business with Argante. But it was not just her he came to see; he seemed to have a special affecti
on for Viviane, and the two were never far from one another’s side when he was here. It was never spoken of, but I strongly suspected Ailis—the girl I rescued from the tree two years earlier—was his daughter and Viviane his wife, though I doubted a legal contract was what bound them to one another.

  Regardless of the truth, Merlin never singled out Ailis; he treated her with the same fatherly respect and affection he bestowed on each one of us. No matter how brief his visit, Merlin never failed to inquire about us, as concerned for the welfare of Avalon’s priestesses and neophytes as he was for the Druids in his own care. Witty and eloquent, he often regaled us with mythical or historical tales or fanciful riddles, and sometimes even taught us a little of the Druid’s lore. As I grew into womanhood, I came to treasure his visits and appreciate the confidence he showed in me, for I viewed him much like a second father and wished never to disappoint him.

  Merlin stood, his bright eyes sweeping the crowd as he prepared to speak. “Druids of Britain, priestesses of the Goddess, I bid you good day. And an especially good day it is, for we have the privilege of carrying out Divine orders, beginning this very morn.”

  All around me, heads turned as neighbor whispered to neighbor, questioning or positing a personal theory on what Merlin’s words meant.

  “As you have no doubt heard, and perhaps embellished in the retelling”—he chuckled—“many signs and wonders were given to us last night as the firedrake made what I believe to be its final appearance. Alone, your experiences may seem odd and perplexing, but that is because they are but fragments of a greater whole. Taken together, the Lady and I believe they reveal the will of the God and Goddess.

  “This we know: from this generation shall arise a great king and so a great sign, the firedrake, has been given to herald his ascent to power. As in days of old, the Goddess wishes this man to be hallowed in both the heavens and on earth, in a ceremony that can only take place on this holy isle between one of her priestesses and the man she deems worthy. This being so, on Beltane we will enact the most holy of rituals ever to be performed—the Sacred Marriage. By coming together in the life-generating, creative act and emulating the love of the God and Goddess, this pair shall assure the great king is wedded to the land—man to woman—priest to priestess—Otherworld to Earth—and the blessing of the Goddess shall be bestowed on him and on our land.

  “We know, too, that the Goddess wishes the treasures of Avalon no longer lie hidden in the mists but be returned to the outside world, beginning with the sacred sword. The king will be vested with this symbol of power by the Lady herself when he comes forth to be hallowed.”

  And so it was to be. The Druids departed our shores for their home within hours, charged with the task of finding this great king before the festival. The priestess who would embody the Goddess would be chosen from our own number in a few short weeks.

  I smiled inwardly as I looked around our sleeping chambers that night before retiring. From the expression on many faces, it was clear mine was not the only heart the Druids had taken with them.

  Chapter Six

  Summer 495

  On Beltane morning, all the daughters of Avalon—young and old—shivered in the chill air as night slowly gave way to dawn. As we traversed the tender grass carpeting the plains between the confluence of the white and red springs, our feet were washed in fresh dew, a silent absolution from the earth herself.

  We reached the summit of the Tor in silence and joined hands, feeling the subtle shift of energy as light broke over the horizon. This was a sacred day, one of the most holy of all holidays celebrated by our people. Today was the beginning of summer, the day honoring the union of the Goddess and God and the fertility of all the land.

  On Beltane night, every woman was said to be the Goddess incarnate and every man the God. Their sexual union reflected that of the two aspects of Deity, and any child born of such a union was considered blessed by the gods. However, in rare years when the Sacred Marriage was performed, those terms increased ninefold for the couple who invoked the God and Goddess into their bodies in ritual, as well as for their offspring. Today one of us would be chosen, set apart by the Lady to act in her service.

  Mona’s clear voice broke the silence in a high, worshipful note as she saluted the rising sun in song, speaking the language of our ancestors. We responded reverently and fell to our knees in unison. Mirroring the actions of the others, I ran my palms across the grass and placed them on my face.

  “Through the tears of the earth, may the Goddess grant me health and long youth,” I quietly prayed, echoing the words whispered by each priestess as she washed.

  I glanced over in time to catch Morgan shrinking away as Grainne swiped at her hair, trying to get it wet or dirty—I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t help but smile. We were all vowed priestesses now, but in many ways we were still children, still prone to the same mischief as the day we came to the isle.

  Rising, I turned to face the circle of standing stones that surrounded us, towering twice my height in some places. Somewhere down below, deep in the forest, Aggrivane and the other Druids hunted. I had heard the low blast of their horn as we gathered at the springs. They had their own sacred rites, their own duties particular to this day and to the ceremony that would be enacted tonight. Under the shelter of the oaks, ash, and elm, they fought to determine who would be the Sacred King.

  When I closed my eyes and listened, I thought I could hear them chanting and the occasional cry of one being tested. I tried to center myself and send forth my mind to see their progress, but my efforts were interrupted as Viviane and Argante made their way to the center of the circle.

  Argante opened her arms wide and addressed us in a tone of authority. “The Druids have chosen the men from whom will be selected the Sacred King according to the ancient tests. So too have we chosen the one who shall take up the mantle of the Goddess and perform the role of the Virgin Queen.” She inclined her head to the copper-haired priestess next to me. “Morgan, the responsibility has fallen to you. Though this is a great honor, it comes at a heavy price. Do you agree to sacrifice your maidenhead in service to the Great Mother and to do so with utmost humility?”

  Morgan nodded silently, barely able to contain her excitement.

  “So be it then. Come with me.” Argante gestured for Morgan to follow her out of the circle. “I will prepare you for the ritual.”

  Morgan began to follow but then stopped. Slowly, she turned toward me, a triumphant smirk on her face. “Look who is the victor now,” she whispered in my ear. “Lineage or no, it seems I have won our little competition after all. While I am taking part in the most sacred of our rituals with the God himself, you will have to be content whoring away your virginity with a common man.” She shrugged. “But perhaps that is how it should be. The Goddess never errs, you know.”

  This, then, was her ultimate revenge—taking the top honor, one that would not be bestowed again, at least not to our generation. I wanted to kill her in that moment, to wrap my hands around her neck or strangle her with the braided rope of her own hair. But Grainne, sensing my tension, held my arms as Morgan gave me one last gloating sneer and swaggered away down the hillside.

  I forced my mind back to the present and made myself breathe deeply. “Sweet Mother, give me strength,” I muttered, trying to calm the poisonous brew of hatred and jealousy boiling in my belly.

  As I fought for control, the first ray of sunlight peaked over the crest of Pen Hill. It shone directly on the altar stone only twice a year—today, the festival of life, and on Samhain, the day of death. Viviane had placed a polished crystal at an angle on the stone and it captured the light, serving as a natural lens to ignite the tinder beneath. From this tiny fire, she lit a series of small white tapers, which were presented to each of the remaining virgins.

  As I held mine, I suddenly realized what was to come tonight—the full significance of the candle. It was permission to
take a lover, to engage fully in the festival. This flame, lit not by human hands but by the sun, the symbol of the God, was the flame of passion which drew him to the Goddess. Its heat seemed to travel from my fingertips, up my arm, and through my veins, warming my blood. I felt my cheeks flush and my breasts tingle. An unfamiliar stirring below my belly told me I was ready to experience the full extent of the mystery this night would bring.

  As we traipsed through the forest, we sang ancient festival songs and others made up on the spot, gathering wands and flowers, weaving them into garlands and wreaths, bedecking one another and any sacred tree, stream, or well we could find. Some of the Druids had begun drinking already, so to them, everything was sacred and deserving of a floral crown.

  “They say the Sacred King is quite a strapping man,” Mona said above the boisterous laughter. “Good thing I wasn’t chosen for his queen or he’d have crushed my delicate frame.” She swept a hand down the length of her slender body to emphasize her point.

  “You’ll have no such problem from Connor,” teased one of the Druids, poking a smaller man in the ribs. “Wiry as a stork, he is.”

  Connor grabbed the teasing Druid around the neck playfully and pretended to bash in his head.

  “Guinevere, did you hear Aggrivane took second?” Grainne yelled over her shoulder to me, never loosening her grip on the man at her side.

  “He did?” That meant Aggrivane was the Sacred King’s champion, and thus allowed to choose his mate from among the virgin priestesses. It was not as holy an office as the Sacred King, but an honor nonetheless. Suddenly, I was afraid. What if he wanted someone else? Worse yet—what if I, in my innocence, was a disappointment to him? All of my earlier confidence drained away, and I began to wonder if attending the ritual was such a good idea.