The Guinevere's Tale Trilogy

Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Spring 495

In early spring, when I was barely fifteen, during the impossibly cold nights on which the ewes gave birth, they came for me—nine priestesses of the isle. I needn’t be told what was about to happen; I had waited four long years for this night.

As I followed behind the solemn procession to the top of the Tor, I tried to recall the tales told of the initiation of a priestess. No one who had successfully passed the tests had ever spoken of them, for they were sworn never to reveal the secrets to the uninitiated. Still, rumors followed every initiation ceremony, and before the crescent was set onto the new priestess’s brow, tales of horror and adventure floated through the House of Nine, leaving the young ones petrified yet excited at the prospect of one day bravely facing the unknown challenges.

As we passed through the entrance to the circle of stones, the other priestesses emerged from the shadows into the flickering torchlight to surround us. I knelt before Argante, who seemed this night to be more goddess than woman.

“Guinevere of Northgallis, you came to these shores a child seeking to become a servant of the ancient ones. Now, as a woman, is that still your wish?”

“It is.”

“Know then that the gods require great sacrifice of those sworn to them. Before you may give your life to the Goddess and the God, you must prove yourself worthy of such an honor.”

She stepped aside, revealing the altar stone, which was laden with symbols of earth, air, water, and fire. I knew then that, like the Druids, I would be tested by each of the elements.

“A priestess must be able to feel and manipulate the energies around her. Draw from the clouds rain which will soak the land with healing waters,” Argante commanded.

The clear night sky stretched out beyond the Tor, stars winking defiance from the heavens. To an outsider, it would seem preposterous to try to make a cloudless sky rain, but I had enough training to know nothing was impossible.

I took a deep breath, willing the roots of my being downward, and closed my eyes, drawing the power of the Tor deep into myself until the very heartbeat of the earth was within my veins. I raised my arms, and the naked branches around us shivered. Concentrating on the void before me, I turned nine times sunwise, faster and faster, willing the energy up through my feet and out of my hands. The wind increased with each turn, so that by the time I opened my eyes, the stars were obscured by thick clouds. I brought down my hands with force, and raindrops followed. In the distance, a crack of lightning was answered by the peal of thunder.

Argante nodded. With an outward sweep of her arms, she commanded the rain to cease, though the clouds remained. She led me back over to the altar stone where a brazier burned brightly in the center.

“With power comes great responsibility. I ask you now to demonstrate your trust in the gods you serve by reaching into this fire and withdrawing a coal without fear.”

I swallowed hard. We trained for many hours to be able to accomplish this task, one which signified our ability to let go of ourselves and place the needs of others before our natural inclinations. My hand shook as I reached toward the fire, but I willed myself not to feel the burning heat. Fire is only a spark fed by air. I am much more—a being of spirit above all. The heat grew more intense as I reached toward the coals, coloring my skin a deep scarlet. But instead of burning me, it traveled around my hand with comforting warmth, as if I was wearing a thick, protective glove. With a final prayer, I grasped the coal, which weighed heavy in my hand but bore no more heat than a sun-drenched rock. With a sigh of relief, I presented it to Argante, unharmed, and set it down on the altar stone.

Argante’s face remained impassive. “Your success is a sign of great fidelity, and I am pleased. As one final scrutiny, I bid you prepare the sacred brew from the fruits of the earth that will draw down the Goddess into this mortal frame, that you may swear your vows directly to her.”

Facing north, I looked down at the altar stone, on which one of the priestesses had strewn a variety of herbs. I knew some of them were not part of the sacred drink meant to induce a trance, so my ability to complete this task successfully was crucial.

My mind flickered back to the garden and my first test of herbal knowledge, where I had made a fatal mistake. What if I did something wrong and accidentally poisoned the Lady of the Lake? Would they slaughter me right here, using my blood to atone, or merely banish me from the isle to live my life in shame?

I cast aside the herbs I knew to be a trick and set to work grinding the others, separating valuable buds from deadly leaves. Water from the white spring bubbled in a small cup placed over the brazier. I added the herbs and a heady, sweet scent emerged, a clear sign I had done well.

Viviane strained the liquid and gave it to Argante. She drank, swayed a little while speaking the words of invocation, and then seemed to shrink and disappear into the force that inhabited her body.

I blinked. Her hair had transformed from gray into a lustrous auburn, and her skin was now smooth and unlined. On each side of her stood a ghost-like white horse as insubstantial as smoke, snorting puffs of fog from their nostrils and pawing at the ground, forming tiny clouds beneath their hooves. This was the goddess Rhiannon, protector of my tribe and line.

Holding their reins in one hand, she reached out to me with the other. “I am the Great Mother, she who is at once Maiden, Mother, and Crone, mistress of the silver moon, she of a thousand names, who holds the powers of life and death at her command. Guinevere of Northgallis, do you truly wish to serve me?” The voice that issued from her lips was young, strong, and confident, not the raspy growl that had instructed me all these years. There was no doubt this was no longer the Lady of the Lake, but one far more powerful and ancient.

“I do.”

“With full understanding that the vows you are about to make are irrevocable and will forever bind you to my service, even beyond this lifetime, pledge now your life to me.”

I knelt, and the words cascaded from my lips without hesitation. “I swear to always obey the Goddess and her consort and to uphold the mysteries of Avalon with all of my being, even laying down my life for them if it is so required. I promise to perform all of my actions with love and trust in the Goddess’s guidance, as I am now her earthly representative. Above all, I pledge to love and serve the Goddess and God even through my dying breath and to respect all forms of worship that give them honor.”

The goddess stepped forward and placed a kiss on my brow, on my lips, and on my heart. Rhiannon raised my chin to face her, placing her hands on top of my head. “Receive now the blessings of the Great Mother and arise a priestess of Avalon.”

When I looked up again, a young man stood in her place. His hair was radiant like the midsummer sun, eyes as blue as the sea. In his left hand he held a spear, and on his right forearm rested a shield. I knew him immediately to be Lugh, the sun god of my mother’s people.

“You have pledged yourself to my service, daughter, and for that I commend you. Though I cannot promise you a life of joy, I can promise you one of merit. Seek my wisdom, and you shall not fail. Be blessed, child of the Votadini, and be clothed a priestess of Avalon.”

He bent down and placed his lips upon my forehead. Heat like the kiss of the sun shot through my being, and I closed my eyes to shield them from the radiant light. What seemed like an instant later, I opened them to find the sky already brightening to soft orange and pink through breaks in the clouds.

The god and goddess were gone, but I was far from alone. Surrounding me were a circle of priestesses. As the sun began to color the eastern horizon in a pale glow, my forehead, lips, and heart were anointed with rose oil, and with great ceremony, the blue robes of priestesshood were wrapped around my shoulders.

The women laid me face up on the altar stone. I welcomed its cold, solid surety after the ethereal nature of my tests and vows. Argante was still under the influence of the sacred drink, so Viviane bent over me, chanting softly in an ancient language as she set about marking my brow with the crescent tattoo. Our mark was the waxing crescent moon, a sign of ever-increasing power and growth, but as I struggled to remain motionless under the biting tips that created the shape, I wondered if that was simply wishful thinking.

I shivered with sudden cold that had nothing to do with the icy stone. Viviane sighed and put a firm hand on me, bidding me be still, but I barely noticed. I was remembering Argante’s prophecy on the day of my admittance.

“Another crown sits on her brow, one that will secure the safety and prosperity of many, but at a great cost, both to herself and to those she holds dear.”

Deep down, I knew this moment set in motion forces that would validate her words. What I could not foresee, even with the aid of the sight, was how.