The Guinevere's Tale Trilogy

Chapter 5

Chapter Five

The new moon following my consecration brought with it a flurry of activity to Avalon’s shores. Late one night, the Druid astronomers noted something strange in the sky—a comet, unlike any seen in a generation, soared above a triune of sacred stars. The comet was bright and its tail slender and long, causing it to take on the appearance of a firedrake. It was said that the same sign appeared in the heavens when Britain was in peril before the reign of Uther Pendragon. Because of its prophetic timing, the comet had been known as the Kingmaker.

The reappearance of this celestial sign was taken very seriously, and all unnecessary activity was suspended. The Druids invaded our shores from their own sacred land in an unprecedented journey that made the elders talk of the great wonder that was sure to follow.

For the next two moons, days were spent in Avalon’s great library, consulting star charts or speaking with the elders, researching the Kingmaker’s last appearance. Our nights were a tireless pursuit of the great star. It had not reappeared since the night following its first sighting, but we all knew it would come again. So that no skill would go untapped, Argante and Merlin, the Archdruid, decreed that Druids and priestesses should work in groups or pairs to pool their knowledge to uncover its meaning. When night fell—except on the full and new moons, when each s*x kept to its own mysterious ceremony—young and old alike would fan out in groups to designated sites across the isle where the lines of energy intersected and, with weary eyes, perform their craft.

And so it was on a mid-spring night not long after the equinox. The air was unseasonably warm, the land hushed in drowsy slumber. Creatures of the night sang their soothing lullaby. All across the hillside, small fires twinkled, marking the spots where priests and priestesses tried to divine the will of the gods.

My companion lay on the tall grass a few feet away from me, head resting on his intertwined fingers, dark eyes cast heavenward, while I sat next to the sacred spring, leaning heavily upon a large boulder on its bank.

I studied him with keen interest. Aggrivane was seventeen, the second son of the great King Lot who ruled the wild kingdom of Lothian far to the north in my mother’s homeland. That much Argante had told me before she sent us off into the woods. Over the past several months, I had learned much more about this tall, handsome man. Aggrivane spoke of his dreams of becoming a warrior, dreams that would have to wait to be fulfilled, out of obedience to his father. King Lot insisted he learn the path of peace before espousing a life of violence.

“He told me it would be to my benefit to calm my willful and stormy nature,” Aggrivane had explained with a smirk.

I’d seen him for the first time on the day of the Druids arrival. Our paths crossed as he labored to unload one of their boats, and he regarded me warmly with chestnut eyes fringed with thick lashes, the corner of his lips turned up in a self-conscious half-smile.

Just as they were now.

Oh no, he knows I was staring at him. I turned away, and my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. I had believed him to be asleep. Hastily, I forced my attention back to the pool and stared into its depths as if the waters could wash away my humiliation.

Amused, Aggrivane sat up, brushing back his wavy, dark brown hair. “Enjoying the view?” he asked, eyes crinkling with mirth in the way I found so attractive.

He was only teasing me, but I could not bring myself to answer. Words died soundlessly in my throat, and I did my best to shield myself from his penetrating gaze by letting my hair fall as a screen between us. I had no experience with men, so I did not know how to conduct myself in this unfamiliar situation.

“Guinevere, look at me.” He seemed remorseful, even slightly hurt I had not taken his joke as intended. “Merlin and Argante sent us here to work together—not to hide from one another. Please, let us make peace.” He reached out a hand toward me.

“I am sorry,” I stammered, my voice barely a whisper. “It is just. . . we so rarely receive men on these shores. . .”

Aggrivane nodded but said nothing, his look turning pensive.

I feared I had offended him in some way. But before I could give voice to my fears, he came over to sit by my side. His rich, dark eyes searched my face.

“You are a newly consecrated priestess, are you not?” His finger grazed the blue crescent on my brow, only recently healed. His touch was like fire that left a tingling trail in its wake. “Is it true that the comet first appeared on the night you took your vows?”

My eyes widened and I nodded slowly. Few people knew of that. “It is,” I replied, more warily than I would have liked. “But I did not see it.”

“Of course not.” He studied my face with a concentration he usually reserved for the stars.

The intensity of his gaze was making me uncomfortable. Warmth spread from my face to my breasts and was slowly creeping down my torso.

“Perhaps then”—his voice was soft and sweet as nectar—“the firedrake heralds some greatness for you.”

A trill of nervous laughter escaped my lips. “I fear you regard me too highly.”

“Perhaps,” he mused. “Or perhaps not.” He smiled sweetly at the thought. He returned his attention to the stars and moments passed in silence before he spoke again. “How long have you been on this isle, Guinevere?”

“I was brought here just after my eleventh birthday, about four years ago.”

“How did you come to this vocation?”

“My mother promised me to the Goddess at birth. I was brought here when I started showing signs of the sight.” Without realizing what I was doing, I moved closer to him and began to slowly trace the image of a serpentine dragon that wound its way up his dominant arm—the sign of his clan. “What about you? You said it was your father’s wish that you study with the Druids. Do you regret it?”

His eyes followed my hand as he began to gently caress it with his own. Then he let out a slow, deep breath. “No, I do not. My father is a wise man. The path of peace is the best training a warrior can have because it teaches you love and the value of life. Because of what I have learned, I will never kill for sport or pleasure, only out of duty to my king or in self-defense. There would be much less bloodshed if all soldiers were trained to follow the holy path.”

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 affection 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.