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silvered hair in the moonlight. "I called myself that but only once. How is
your mother? Well, I hope."
"Dead," I answered, then waited in the cold silence for him to show some
reaction.
When he saw that he must speak, he finally said, "Well, that happens."
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I demanded, "By the Bright Lady, what is your name?" I do not know if the
goddess forced him to reveal it because we were at the pool, or if he would
have told me anyway, but he answered.
"Merlin. Some call me Merlin the Prophet, or Merlin the Seer. Others name me
a magician."
"Not Merlin the Procurer? Not Merlin the Seducer? Not Merlin the Merciless?"
"What I .did, I did only once," Merlin said, as if that should buy a measure
of forgiveness. "The omens were good that night, for one who wished to produce
offspring strong in the old powers. It was the first homed moon of the new
summer, after all."
"Is that the only reason you took my mother, because the moon was right?"
"I was not at Tintagel on my own errand," Merlin defended himself. "Uther
Pendragon wanted to bed the Duchess Igraine, and he would have killed her
husband for the chance. Call me a procurer if you will, but I tried only to
save the duke's life and I .foresaw in the process that Pendragon's loins
would produce a son who could be a truer and greater king than Uther would
ever be."
"Igraine's son? You did not kill the boy?"
"No, Arthur lives with me now, and follows me in my travels. In a year or
two, he will learn his destiny," Merlin said. "He will unite all of England
and drive back the Saxons, and he will rule this stubborn realm with a gentle
hand___" He hunched down in the tall grass beside the pool, stared
thoughtfully into water that reflected moon and stars.
"So you helped seduce the Lady Igraine for a noble cause. But why did you bed
my mother?"
"For you!"
Merlin said in surprise, as if it were obvious. "I saw that night that your
mother had fey blood, and all of the omens were right. I saw that you would be
wise and beautiful, and the thought came to me that Arthur would need a fair
maiden by his side. The old blood is strong in you, both from me and your
mother. If you marry Arthur Pendragon, perhaps together we can build a realm
where the old gods are worshipped beside the new."
"Didn't you think before you mounted her?" I asked. "Didn't you think about
how it would destroy her?"
Merlin said, "I looked down the path of her future. She would have married a
stableboy and borne him five fine sons and a brace of daughters. She would
have been happier, perhaps but she would not have hadyour "My mother died in
torment because of you!" I shouted. "She died alone in the woods, because she
feared letting anyone see me alive. She died friendless, because I was too
young and silly to know how to save her. Her spirit is in torment still!"
"Yes, yes," Merlin cajoled as if I did not quite see some greater point, "I'm
sure it all seems a tragedy. But you are here, are you not? You "
I saw then that he would not listen, that my mother's suffering, her
loneliness and shame, all meant nothing to him. She was but a pawn in his
hand, a piece to be sacrificed for the sake of some greater game.
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I knew then that I hated him, and that I could never allow Merlin to use his
powers against a woman this way again. And suddenly I glanced up at a shooting
star, and I knew that I had the power, that the old blood was strong enough in
me, that I could stop him.
"Father," I interrupted him, holding the lily high in my left hand. Merlin
shut his mouth. "In the name of the Bright Lady I curse you: though you shall
love a woman fiercely, the greater your desire for her grows, the more lame
shall be your groin. Never shall you sire a child again. Never shall you use a
woman as your pawn, or your seed as a tool."
I stepped through the rushes to the side of the warm pool at Minerva's
failing temple, felt the living power of the goddess there as my toe touched
the water.
"No!" Merlin shouted and raised his hand with little finger and thumb splayed
in a horn as he tried to ward off my spell.
But either he was too late, or the spell was too strong for him. In any case,
I tossed the white lily into the still waters.
As the wavelets rolled away from the lily, bounding against the edges of the
pool, Merlin screamed in agony and put his hands over his face.
I believe that he was peering into his own bleak future as he cried in
horror,"No! No! No!"
I knelt and dipped my hand in the pool seven times, cupping the water and
letting it run down my breasts and between my legs.
Then I stood and merely walked away.
Sometimes near dawn, I waken and think that I can still hear Merlin's cries
ringing in my ears. I listen then, and smile a fey smile.
In time I made it back to my cottage in the woods, and I told the shade of my
mother about all that had transpired. She seemed more at peace that night than
ever before, and so before daybreak, I introduced her to the child Daffyth
once again.
I told Daffyth that she was his mother, and convinced my mother's shade that
Daffyth was a forgotten son, born from her love for a man named Andelin.
In the still night I coaxed them to the edge of the woods, and let them go.
When last I saw them, they were walking hand-in-hand on the road to Tintagel.
As for me, I learned in time to praise the goddess for her goodness and for
what I am and always hope to be a mooncalfe, and no sorcerer's pawn.
Avalonia
Kristen Britain
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Mist curled and wove about the ruins of the old abbey like trailing, winding
strips of gauze. The Tor was long lost to sight in the fog, though once, a
window had opened, revealing a brief, titillating view of the
fourteenth-century tower atop it.
Vapor coated Anne Wilder's glasses, obscuring her vision further. She tore
them off her face in vexation and rubbed the lenses clear with the tail of her
scarf. What had possessed her to visit Glastonbury on such a foul day? Even
the tourists, who usually came in busloads seeking the spell of Arthurian
legend, had fled Glastonbury for the shopping districts of London.
She had come on the word of a blind musician.
Last night she had taken supper in a pub down the street from her bed and
breakfast. During a break in the band's Celtic repertoire, one of the
musicians made his way to the bar, uncannily avoiding the clutter of tables,
chairs, and patrons as though he traveled a well-worn path. He sat on a stool
beside her. The barkeep passed him a pint of dark, bitter ale, and he reached
for it instinctively, whereupon he turned to Anne.
"You are new here, aren't you," he said. It was a statement of fact.
How did he even know she sat beside him? "Yes. How can you "
"And American by your accent. What brings you to England?"
Anne wondered at his interest. She was but one of millions of tourists who
inundated Britain yearly. He seemed friendly enough, however, and if he wanted [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]