Mayda’s honesty warmed my heart, a comfort I carried with me now as I contemplated Arthur’s conversion to Christianity, and then Morgan’s. Had she found this goddess and accepted her as one and the same as those we’d worshiped as part of the rites of Avalon? Early during my time in Pellinor’s house, I had noted the similarities between his faith—with its Host that so resembled the full moon and its rituals that invoked the elements in incense, water, candles, and bread and wine—and my own. Even some of this Christ’s teachings were like those of the Druids. And now there was this Mother goddess. Had Morgan been able to look beyond the names and see enough of Avalon in this new faith?
If so, she was indeed a wiser woman than I, for there were aspects of this Christian world I could not accept. No matter what Mayda and her sisters may believe in secret, their faith still forbade the ancient gods, who were in so many ways our tie to the land and to our ancestors. Pious bastards like Marius made certain women had little place in or influence on the faith—and that they would never be worshiped in any proper way. Plus, I would never be able to believe we needed to be saved, much less that the death of one man could achieve such a monumental task. I believed in right and wrong and had seen both tremendous good and horrific evil, but the idea that one man’s sin, brought about by a woman—of course—so long ago could be the reason why we did wrong today was hard enough to believe and then to tell me that the torture of one man, god or not, undid all of that and made it tolerable for me to do wrong, so long as I asked forgiveness for it, was simply too much. Father Dyfadd and I had had many rounds of debate on these points when I sought to understand Arthur’s faith, but to no avail.
I gently removed the material that covered the statue, setting it aside so I could recover it before any of the sisters knew of my transgression. There she stood in blue robes so much like my own as a priestess, beckoning me to know her as another Lady of Avalon. I lit a candle with the flint and fire steel I’d brought from my room. Setting the candle before the statue, I gave the sign of Avalon and looked into the Lady’s hollow stone eyes.
“Great Mother, called by many names, hear this priestess who requests your aid. Safeguard our king, he whom my heart holds so dear—” My words stopped as the sight took over.
I was riding with Arthur, Kay, and the Combrogi at a hard pace, still giving chase to Mordred. The land there was flat, grazing pastures and farmland as far as the eye could see. We were about a day or two’s ride from Cadbury, in the heart of Salisbury. We rode for what felt like hours and the land subtly changed, sprouting trees at intervals, until we were once again in forested land. Somewhere nearby, a river or brook trickled.
“We need to rest the mounts soon, or they will falter,” Kay advised.
“Agreed. I wish I’d known that little cur was going to lead us on a hunting expedition. I could have sent word to Powys to prepare new mounts, extra soldiers, anything.” Frustration colored Arthur’s voice over the pounding of the hooves.
Where was Mordred leading them and why?
“We’ll find him, Arthur, and when we do—” Bedivere never got to finish his thought, because he was slammed sideways off his horse.
“Ambush!”
The cry went up from the head of the line and was quickly echoed to those at the rear, but not before Mordred’s army descended, larger and more heavily Saxon this time, if the weaponry was any indication.
Arthur hacked a line through the onslaught, laying low man and woman alike. I didn’t need the sight to know he was on a mission to get to his son and end the violence once and for all. But if Mordred was in the fray, he was well hidden. No doubt this attack had been orchestrated to inflict maximum damage on Arthur’s army while keeping Mordred at a safe distance. For all anyone on the battlefield knew, Mordred had already retreated to some hideaway and was watching the battle unfold through his mother’s second sight, just as I was doing now.
One member of the Combrogi fell, then another. Owain was badly wounded, but fighting on. Gareth and Garheis were not so fortunate, brothers to the bitter end. Gareth perished defending his younger sibling, their limbs tangled in death, eyes glassy and staring, their souls fleeing to the safety of the Otherworld.
As blood spurted from hacked away limbs and the agony of death throes filled the air, I had a moment of lucidity where I was grateful to be only witnessing this horror. Yet my hand involuntarily reached for the sword that slept on the cold floor beneath my pallet in my room above, my warrior’s instinct aiming to protect those I held dear.
For several moments, the chanting sisters filled my ears with the lamentations of their God. “I led you out of Egypt, from slavery to freedom, but you led your Savior to the cross.”
And then the visions and sorrowful voices mixed.
My attention was drawn not to Arthur but to Aggrivane, who was battling a large Saxon wielding a spear and a sword simultaneously. Aggrivane was on the defensive, backing away as the Saxon poked his spear at Aggrivane’s guard, then sought an opening with his sword. Even without a shield, the Saxon evaded all of Aggrivane’s attempts to wound him, only snarling in pain when a Combrogi saw the situation and stabbed the Saxon’s sword arm from behind, severing the main muscle in his shoulder.
“For forty years, I led you safely through the desert. I fed you with manna from heaven, and brought you to a land of plenty; but you led your Savior to the cross.”
Aggrivane took advantage of the Saxon’s pain to slash out, tearing the Saxon’s leather chest plate, but otherwise inflicting no damage. If he could repeat the move, the Saxon would be dead. Aggrivane circled around, seeking another moment of inattention as he and his ally took on the ox of a man now snorting like a raging bull. Aggrivane lunged, burying his sword in the soft part of the Saxon’s side, just above his hip bone.
But he was too late. The Saxon had seen an opening too.
“What more could I have done for you? I planted you as my fairest vine, but you yielded only bitterness: when I was thirsty you gave me vinegar to drink, and you pierced your Savior with a lance.”
Aggrivane’s eyes went wide and his mouth twisted into a wicked grimace. The Saxon’s spear had caught him low, probably in the belly, and the wound forced him to the muddy ground. Men blocked my view, so I only saw flashes of his face as he grimaced and twitched in pain, hands wrapped around the shaft of the spear as his lifeblood poured onto the unforgiving ground. The next time I caught sight of him, his head had lolled to the side and his hands were slack, chest no longer heaving.
“I raised you to the height of majesty, but you have raised me high on a cross. My people, what have I done to you? How have I offended you? Answer me!”
My scream ripped through the worlds, and for a moment, the battle ceased. Each soldier stood frozen, heads and eyes turning to locate the source of the unearthly sound. Some crossed themselves, while others made the sign of Avalon, and a few ran away in terror. For three breaths, everyone was silent and motionless, paying respect to a pain that rattled through the core of each man. Then the battle began again as though nothing untoward had taken place.
Back in the chapel, my body crumpled, reacting to the trauma of what I had seen before my fragile mind caught up. I clawed at the statue’s feet as though she could save him, as though by hanging on to her, I could will Aggrivane back to life.
Her serene face was the last thing I saw before my sight shattered into a blinding field of stars, their white heat painful to behold in the blackness that sought to consume me. I grasped my head, unable to see, crippled by the pain turning my blood to ice. I was crying, I had to be, for the neck of my sleeping gown was wet and my chest muscles were spasming in time with my heart. How it still beat, I did not know. I could barely draw breath.
Mayda’s strong arms gripped me beneath the shoulders as she and Sister Magdalena lifted me from the floor and carried me past the faces of startled sisters. I gave into the pain, senseless
.
I woke in my cell, retching before I was even fully conscious, but Mayda was there, holding a bowl beneath my mouth, supporting my shoulders and holding back my hair. When I was finished, stomach muscles cramping, too weak even to lift my head, she placed a cool cloth on my forehead and squeezed my hand. That small gesture was all that kept me from giving up completely. I wanted to sleep and never wake, to join Aggrivane in the Otherworld. I had been there once; the transition was easy. All I had to do was will it. But the warm reassurance of her hand was like a cord tying me to this world.
Weary, I looked at her. Mayda’s lips moved in whispered prayer.
When she noticed I was awake, she smiled. “I will be with you as long as you need me. No matter how long it takes for the pain to stop.” She wrapped me in her arms, holding me like a child.
“How did you know I would need you?” I asked weakly.
“Do you think the Britons are the only ones gifted with the sight?”
I had never considered the possibility of Saxon women having it too.
“I do not have the gift, but I have seen it many times, so I knew what to expect. I know you are tired, so I will not trouble you with questions, save one. The rest you can tell me when you are ready.” Her gaze met my eyes, which hadn’t stopped pouring since the visions ended, making certain I understood her. “Does our king live?”
I nodded weakly.
She breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. Then we will redouble our prayers. Our good Lord cannot fail to hear us in this holy season.”
I envied her confidence, her faith. My Goddess had abandoned me, never to return, or so said the impenetrable cloud in my heart. I knew little of Mayda’s god, but if he made Arthur’s victory possible, I would seriously consider following him.
Two days later, thanks to Mayda’s expert ministrations, I was strong enough to be on my feet, though I did not leave my cell. Mayda had been called away to the visitor’s parlor for a meeting with King Cuncar, ruler over York since its capture by the Saxons decades before, and his archbishop. Why were they here? Could they possibly know Elga had sent me here? When I’d voiced my concerns to Mayda, she assured me they simply wished to make certain everything was in place for the town’s celebration of the Holy Week, in which the convent played a large role.
With Mayda occupied and the other sisters wrapped up in preparations for the upcoming solemnity, I had a stretch of much-needed time to myself to think through all that had happened. I sat on the small bed, elbows on my knees, head in my hands. What had happened to Arthur after my visions ended? Surely he could not be dead. If the Goddess had chosen to show me Aggrivane’s last moments, she likely would have done the same for Arthur, so he had to be alive. If he had been defeated, Mayda would know by now. Surely word would have come and the Saxons would be rejoicing.
I sighed, flopping back on the bed, eyes on the sloping timber ceiling, willing myself to think through the situation as I had been trained. There had been heavy losses on Arthur’s side. That much was certain. Many of his best men had died. I forced the image of Aggrivane lying still amid the carnage out of my mind. Those who had survived would have taken shelter somewhere nearby—wherever that was.
Would Morgan have chosen Arthur or backed her son? How does one make such a choice? I shook my head. I’d been down that line of thought before, and it had no clear answer. Only she could say where her loyalties truly lay. Even without her, chances were good the army had picked up some camp women. Hopefully some of them were priestesses and could help aid the wounded.
And what of Mordred? Surely his army had suffered losses as well. But then how had they gained in number since their attack near Cadbury? Mordred had to have back-up units supplying fresh men and horses. That meant he wasn’t fleeing from Arthur; he was leading him on a predefined course, one he knew he could reach before his father and set the next phase of his plan in motion.
Damn Morgan and her influence on her son. She was never one for battle strategy, but that wouldn’t have stopped her from teaching Mordred to think through every possibility, to turn every situation to his greatest advantage, just as she had been doing her whole life. Damn Lot for teaching his fosterling battle strategy. He’d thought he was preparing the heir to the kingdom. Little did he know he was arming a tyrant.
My blood went cold. Damn me too. I had taught him to read the Holy Stones, the one weapon of war neither Lot nor Morgan could or would pass on. I had armed him with a conduit to the gods. Damn my ignorance.
I tapped my thumb against my leg, turning a thought over in my mind. Two could play at that game, and I had more experience. No one was likely to have a set of stones in a house of the Christian god, but that never stopped the poor children on the streets who thought it only a game to be played with whatever pebbles littered the ground.
Standing, I touched the wall, fighting a wave of dizziness as my mind leapt ahead of my body. Most of the things I needed would be easy enough to procure. I still had the platter from my dinner; it would do as a board. While the sisters were attending to their prayers tonight, I could read the stones. But where would I get the stones themselves? Several feet of snow on the ground outside made it unlikely I could simply pluck them from the garden. Plus, I needed stones of pure quality to ensure the accuracy of my visions. Thanks to my hasty departure from Camelot, the only stones of any value I had with me were set in the ring Arthur had given me. I was not about to take it apart, but it gave me an idea.
Quietly opening my door, I peered down the hall, finding it deserted. I made my way toward the sisters’ work area. They embroidered and affixed jewels to robes for the bishop in one of these rooms, or so Mayda had told me when she gave me a tour. I didn’t expect them to leave such valuables out in the open, but I was willing to bet they’d be easy enough to find.
As I neared the end of the hall, a small, clear bell tolled twice, calling the sisters to prayer. I stopped, flattening myself against the wall as they passed. Some of them smiled in greeting, while others ignored me. A few looked at me askance, no doubt wondering why I was in their hallway when no one had seen me since I fainted in the chapel, but no one could question me as they were currently under the commandment of silence.
Once they had all passed out of sight and the soft murmur of their prayers filled the air, I slipped in and out of small workrooms until I found the one I was seeking. Light filtered in from a bank of windows on the west wall, illuminating two spinning wheels, three looms, and a few benches laden with silks and delicate thread in a rainbow of colors. I approached the latter, hoping to find a stole or other garment I could take and rip out the jewels—I could always sew them back in later. But after rummaging through all of them, I found Fortuna was not with me.
Mayda must have kept the jewels in her office. My skin prickled at the thought of invading her private space. That would be wrong. I did not want to betray her trust, but this was something I needed to do. Surely she would understand, and she needn’t know if I returned them quickly.
I skittered down the long hall lined with rows of cells until I came to the largest. I tried the handle, but the door was locked. No matter. I had borrowed a long needle and thin metal implement used in affixing jewels to fabric from the workroom. They would work to spring this lock, as well as any that secured the stones. With a snick, I was inside.
Mayda’s room was comprised of an outer office and what I guessed was her bedroom beyond a closed door. The office was only slightly bigger than my cell, so it didn’t take long to locate a small wooden box with a heavy iron lock inside one of the chests behind her desk. This had to be it.
I carried the box over to the light. Pausing for a heartbeat, I closed my eyes and said a prayer of thanks to Isolde for teaching me this forbidden skill. When the lock popped open, I turned over the box, letting its contents fall into my palm like raindrops. I counted the glittering jewels. Exactly forty waited at my command, enough
to represent both armies. But I was still missing the queens.
After running back to my room, box ill-concealed beneath the folds of my robe, I dove under the bed and withdrew my pack. Rummaging through its contents, my fingertips touched brooches, parchment, a bone comb, and an old wooden dog figurine I carried for protection. The stones were not there. Running my hands over the gowns hanging on pegs on the wall, tears pricked at my eyes as I traced one empty skirt after another. Just when I was about to give up, my fingertips met a reassuring lump in the seam of one hem. Reaching in, I retrieved the two red stones Isolde and I had won, lost, and won back again so many times over the years.
After kissing the queens, I arranged the stones in their proper formations, snuffed out all the candles save one, and took up my place before the board. Closing my eyes, I chased away all thoughts and concentrated on my breathing. With the first dizzying tingle of weightlessness, I opened my eyes.
This time was different than those that had come before. It was not a battle the gods were communicating, but something else. I stared past the stones I had so precariously procured until the knots and grain of the wood platter formed pictures, just as the clouds had when I would watch them as a child from the hillsides around Northgallis.
I saw Mordred pacing the halls of Camelot like a caged wolf waiting to be let out. Then I saw him barring the gate and filling the walls to the brim with archers. A rain of arrows fell on Arthur’s army, forcing them to choose retreat or die trying to scale the impregnable walls of Camelot.
The visions ended, leaving me with a chilling certainty. Mordred was leading them into a trap they could not possibly escape. He knew it and Arthur soon would too. I had no way of getting word to him, but I could warn those who would help him, and perhaps provide him with some fresh reinforcements too.
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