He turned and regarded the woman quietly, “Greetings, Morgana. Do you usually drop in unannounced?”
“On occasions such as these, Cernunnos.” Morgana replied. Her jet-black hair was held back by a jewelled headband.
Herne surveyed her figure quietly, “I’m not sure emerald is your colour.”
Morgana laughed and smoothed her pale hands down the front of her velvet dress, “This is old, Cernunnos. But I have not worn it for a thousand years or so.”
Herne sighed, “What do you want, Enchantress?”
“So formal, Cernunnos? I remember when we were lovers. Never have I felt such passion as the years I was in your arms, you were Lord of the Underworld and I loved thee as I have never loved another. Not even my husband.”
“Which one, Morgana?” Herne’s mouth twisted in a smile; “Thou hast had many husbands.”
“Artus.” She replied shortly, her green eyes suddenly hard. She turned away from him and walked across the carpet her jet-black hair flying behind her. She turned just before she reached the chair Cerian had been sitting in and clasped her hands before her, “I came to ask thee to reconsider, Cernunnos. Return with me to thy kingdom, thy subjects ask me daily where their lord is and why he hath departed and I cannot answer them. Come back with me, husband and let us rule our own country.”
Herne stared at her and sighed, “I cannot. You know that, Morgana. I have only this existence now and I am tired beyond imagining.”
Morgana stared at him and then moved across to stand beside him, “My Lord,” she said, her voice had changed subtly to a deeper timbre, “if thou art tired, let me refresh you; return with me, when we are home I shall bathe thy head with cool water and anoint it with scented unguents.” She moved to stand before him and gently reached up a hand and gently touched his antlers, “Your horns need attention, my lord,” she said softly.
Herne cupped her pointed face in his palms, “Would you care for them, wife?”
Morgana’s eyes shone with an iridescent light, “I would polish them daily, Lord. Only return with me and I myself will clean them and polish them until they gleam.”
Her eyes closed as she reached up on tiptoe to kiss his lips, “My Lord,” she murmured, “Cernunnos, Lord of the Underworld, Guardian of the Dead.”
Herne caught her wrist before she could touch his face, “No!” he snarled and his face became almost bestial, “you’ll not snare me that way again, Morgana. I’m proof against that now.”
Morgana’s eyes flashed green fire and she pulled her hand away, “You were never proof against it,” she spat. “And now you’ll put your life and your future in the hands of that mortal.”
“What I do with my future is my choice alone,” Herne replied quietly.
“She’ll break - enough pressure and they all break.”
“Not this one, Morgana, there is fire and steel in her.” Herne turned and Morgana saw the contained rage in his eyes and backed away her emerald eyes suddenly filled with fear. She swallowed as Herne continued, “I know that you broke the others.”
“Mortals, pah!” Morgana snarled, “useless creatures. Constantly fearing Death, seeking to evade him at every turn and then running straight into his arms.”
“Yes, they are a paradox.” Cernunnos smiled, “are you finished, Enchantress?”
“You will not yield this foolish idea of release?”
“It is not release I seek,” Cernunnos replied, “if you have not grasped that, Morgana, then you have grasped nothing. Still, I could forgive you that for ‘twas why I first fell in love with you. Your single-mindedness of purpose was inspiring at times. Terrifying at others, but you are still the same Morgana. That is your tragedy, I must try not to let it become mine.” He turned away from her and Morgana stared at his back, she lifted her hand as if with one finger she could consign him to the utter depths of Hell and then her mouth set in a hard thin line.
“I shall have her, Cernunnos. And you – you will watch her break before me.” she turned and walked into the shadows at the room’s circumference.
Herne waited until only the crack and hiss of the fire was audible and then he murmured to himself, “I have no doubt that you will try.”
Herne sighed and walked across to his sleeping quarters, a gentle voice behind him spoke, “You fear for her, Horned One.”
He turned to the bright, shining figure standing behind him, “Yes. She is the last – if she fail, then we all fail.”
“But you principally.”
“Only that I would never find rest.” Cernunnos remarked, “I have not yet told her of her heritage, nor of the dangers she will face. Morgana and her sister are dangerous enemies.”
“But she has the support of the Empress Tethys; and the protection of the Invincible Sun and my assistance too if she should call upon me.”
“She may have to do that old friend,” Herne gestured to a chair, “Sit. Tell me why you came.”
The man sat, placing the centurion’s helmet with its white, transverse crest on the table next to the chair and some of the brightness faded from him. He sat and took the goblet Herne proffered, “The Dark is massing,” he spoke without emotion but there was a tremor in his voice. “They know that a saviour is expected and you must tell her soon who she is, if the Dark tell her before we do, we may lose her.”
“I cannot protect her once she leaves my realm,” Cernunnos looked around, “even if it only consists of this room. She is safe in her own home, both front and back portals are guarded by cold iron, no creature from our world can abide it.”
“Do you miss your Kingdom?”
Herne grinned showing sharp white teeth, “I might as well ask you if you miss being human, Mithras.” He rolled the bowl of the goblet between his palms and sighed, “Sometimes, sometimes when I call the Yell Hounds and we gallop across the sky, I recall that they can return home their kennels and I am exiled. But-“ he looked up at his friend as the beginnings of a smile spread across his face, “I am also obliged to recall that my banishment is self-chosen.”
The other grinned suddenly, “Aye. But what made you come? You had a Kingdom, a Queen and a partner. Why give all that up?”
Cernunnos sighed again and shook his head, “I never had a partner – and I begin to wonder if I ever had a Kingdom; I did not rule it – She ruled it through me. Or perhaps in spite of me.”
“She’s been here hasn’t she?” Herne’s silence was all the assent he needed. “What did she promise this time?”
“The usual, my Kingdom, my throne, my people – with one exception.”
“And that was?”
“She wanted to be my partner again.”
Mithras raised an eyebrow, “Indeed. Then there must be something special about this particular female that worries her.”
“Yes, but what? The others had skills equal to hers, though none were healers. What could she have that would make Morgana so afraid?”
Mithras laughed and laid a hand on the fur-covered limb holding the goblet, “My friend you will have to discover that for yourself.” His face became sombre, “Beware Morgana, Cernunnos, she’s destroyed every other child who might have saved thee; this girl survived because she was hidden from her – if you intend to bring her before the company Morgana will know.”
“Perhaps Morgana will not be as vigilant as all that,” Herne mused, “Cerian must be shown to the Ancient Ones, the meeting place cannot be closed until after the ceremony. We would not want to shut any of the Light from the Glass Island.”
Mithras stood up, “Then I hope that she is well defended.”
“That too remains to be seen,” Herne responded, suddenly looking very old.
Mithras tucked his helmet beneath his left arm and extended his right hand, Herne gripped his wrist fiercely, “May the Invincible Sun protect thee.”
“May He protect thee too,” Mithras replied, “and the Princess.”
“The Princess especially.” Herne nodded. The Hunter set the two goblets on the ledge next to the pool of water and when he turned back the room was empty.
For Cerian, the instant she stepped through the gateway the world spun before her eyes then righted itself and she stood with her hand on the doorknob. She
pushed open the door and Rufus immediately leapt up at her. “Off!” She
commanded, and Rufus dropped to the cork tiles.
Cerian knelt on the floor and ruffled the sandy ears, “Oh Ruf, what am I
going to do?” The dog whined and pawed her leg, Ceri pushed herself off the
floor and said, “I know, Rufus, first I let you out. Come on!”
Cerian began to prepare the evening meal around quarter to five as she
usually did around school holidays; nothing had changed all that much she still
had to do most of the preparations by hand. She reflected as she flaked the fish
for the pie that Herne was probably right and that magic didn’t necessarily
make every task easier.
Dinner was the same as usual although for once Ceri was lost in her own
thoughts. When the dinner plates had been cleared away and her father had a
cup of coffee before him he took Ceri’s hand in both his own, casting a
conspiratative glance at his wife he said, “Your mother and I have some
wonderful news, she went to see the doctor today, we’re going to have a
baby!”
Cerian stared at them both and then suddenly rose to her feet and hugged
them, ”I’m so pleased!” She gasped, “I’ve always wanted a baby brother or
sister!”
“I’m not promising anything,” her mother smiled, “we’ll see if we can give
you a brother. Or aren’t you bothered?”
“Not really,” Cerian laughed, “after all I’ll be fourteen years older than him
or her. I just don’t want to be neglected.”
Her mother pulled Ceri to her and hugged her, “Why should you think that
we’ll neglect you? You are our daughter and we love you very much.” Ceri laughed and felt the dark cloud of loneliness that had begun to
overshadow her melt away with hardly a trace.
She lay awake for a long time before sleep finally claimed her. She jerked awake to see Herne standing over her with a lantern, the same pale cold light
emanating from it.
Cerian sat up and said, “Is it time?”
“Technically we are a thousand years too late, but yes, we ought to depart.” “May I dress and put some shoes on?”
“I have both for you, put a dressing gown on.” Herne responded tightly. Ceri nodded and pulled a crimson wrap over her nightdress, “I’m ready,”
she said quickly.
“Thank you for leaving your window open,” Herne’s voice was flat and
colourless, ”Turn and face the window, Lady, tonight we begin your
instruction.” Cerian did as she was bidden and she felt Herne move to stand
behind her, “Close your eyes and imagine that you are standing in my home,
you can see the crimson carpet, hear the hiss of the fire, now mentally transfer
us from here to there.”
For a moment Cerian felt a brief sense of disorientation and then she opened
her eyes. They stood in Herne’s oak, she raised a hand to touch the one of
Herne’s on her shoulder and said, “I believe we have arrived, Lord.” This time Herne’s voice had regained some of its warmth, “Not quite, you
haven’t yet learn to cut yourself out of time. Put your hand out.”
Cerian reached out and touched something solid; it was as if a pane of glass
separated them from the scene before them.
Herne squeezed her shoulder reassuringly and Cerian felt the room spin
again. When it steadied they stood in exactly the same place. “There is a knack to it,” he said, “but you have done very well. I have taught those who took months to master time and had me tearing out chunks of fur. Everyone
learns.”
“But I haven’t mastered it!” Cerian protested.
“You came very close, you must see yourself as the only real and aught else
as illusory and transient. It will be hard.”
“It has been that already, Cernunnos,” Ceri sighed, “You are saying that it
will get harder.”
“Yes.” Herne’s eyes were pools of such great sorrow that Cerian could not look at them, “Your dress and shoes are waiting in the next room. Go and change and I shall tell you of this feast day.” He held a curtain aside and Cerian
entered the room and felt it drop behind her.
The dress shimmered softly in the light, it had a round neck, and quarterlength sleeves and was shaped to mid-thigh culminating in two tiered frills that
ended just above the knee. The colour was the royal blue of the ocean and it
seemed composed of some light, silken material. Cerian slipped it on over her
head and knew that there was magic in it as it fitted her exactly without seeming
to shrink or expand. She turned her attention to the shoes, at first glance they seemed nothing more than a pair of sandals, she slipped them on and saw that each strap was composed of tiny shells moulded together with mother-of-pearl. She stood up and pushed the curtain back, Herne was standing in front of the fire, his back towards her. Cerian felt suddenly speechless, “I’m ready,” she
finally managed to blurt out.
Herne turned towards her and a smile lit his features, “You look radiant
Princess.”
Cerian was too nervous to absorb the title Herne had conferred on her. She
nodded shakily like a badly manipulated mannequin and Herne said, “There
is a gift from the dryads who greeted you in Windsor Great Park.” He brought forth a necklace of oak leaves with an acorn as the pendant. “It
was their wish that you wear it tonight.”
“It would be a privilege,” Cerian replied, her knees were already
beginning to shake, “would you put it on for me.”
She lifted the hair at the nape of her neck and Herne fastened the necklace
for her. He took her hand and said, “Face me.”
Ceri could not have disobeyed him to save her life, Herne knelt before her
and looked up into her face, “Lady, tonight you come into your true rights -
you are my liege lady for whom I have waited for half a century and I will jump
off the edge of the world if you demand it. From this night forward I dare not
sit without your express permission nor may you call me Lord for you are higher
than I.”
“Herne, please rise. I shall call you Lord, for you deserve the courtesy of
your title and my desire is that you stand beside me, for I must be warrior and
wisdom. I may be your mistress, but I should welcome your support.” “Then it is a privilege I shall not abuse, Lady.” Herne nodded and said,
“Turn around.” Cerian turned slowly and before them stood a great Abbey.
Light blazed from the windows and the sounds of music and merrymaking
floated out on the night air.
“May I escort you inside, Princess?” Herne offered her his arm. “Thank you, Lord,” Cerian replied and laid her hand gently his arm for him
to lead the way. The side door opened easily on smooth hinges and Cerian
looked up at Herne, “Are we expected?” she asked quickly.
“We are indeed,” Herne replied, “Your Hallowe’en. It comes from All
Hallows Even, we Ancient Ones call it The Day of The dead. The last day of the
year when the dead rise from the graves to wander the earth, it is almost
midnight and the dawning of a new year, you call it All Saints’ Day. Once a
year, to celebrate the return of the Sol Invictus the Grail itself is shown to us.
All who live and work in different times try to attend this one night for this too
is a place out of Time.” He smiled tautly, “although parts of this corridor
connect off into different times. Do you understand?”
Cerian shook her head, “Not really, Lord. But I hope comprehension will
dawn with time.”
“Time. Something we may not have too much of.” Herne replied
cryptically. Cerian stepped inside the building and looked around, she stood in what appeared to be a corridor, and it was lit with the same glow that
illuminated Herne’s home. He turned to her, “Would it please you to wait,
Mistress?” He inquired, “I wish to introduce someone to you privately before we
enter the Great Hall in state.”
Cerian held her hand out and Herne took it gravely, “It would be a
pleasure, Lord.”
Herne bowed, ”Thank you Mistress.” He reached the end of the corridor
and turned left disappearing from view.
Cerian looked around; she wondered what surprises were in store for her
and what tests she would have to undergo. She turned around in a full circle and saw the corridor behind her. Once again she was aware of the familiar
sensation of unease that had characterised her entrance into Windsor Great Park,
and yet this time there was a sensation of urgency and then she saw the cowled
figures of monks, one approached her and spoke, “Father Abbot, he is dying.” “He will not die,” a voice, deep and rich spoke from a point near Ceri’s
shoulder, “he waits. He waits for the Princess.”
“And who is she, Father?” the same cowled figure spoke again. “She is the answer to his prayers and his peace. He will not die, yet neither
shall he continue to live, when she comes she will release him.” The voices grew fainter as if they were being blown away by the years between them and
Ceri stood alone in a small corridor.
The same sense of urgency was still present; Ceri took a step forward and
remembered the last words of the Hunter, Parts of this corridor lead off into
different times. Then she took a deep breath and walked forward. At the end of
the corridor was a small wooden door, slowly Cerian turned the ring, it
opened smoothly to reveal stairs spiralling upwards. Cerian looked up into
blackness and then surveyed the area around her for something to light her way.
Set into a bracket on the wall was the metal holder of an unlit torch; Cerian
lifted it, surprised at how light it was. She pointed it upwards at the glow
illuminating the corridor, taking a deep breath she stared into it and said, “May I
have some light - for I have a dark path to tread and I would welcome it.”
There was a brief click as if something slipped into place and then the torch
flared brightly and Cerian found herself staring at a ball of light exactly like the
ones in the Oak. “Thank you,” she said softly and then holding the torch before her began to walk up the stairs.
The stairway led upwards for what seemed a long and interminable time and soon the slight glow from the corridor was obscured and Cerian’s only surety
was the darkness around her and the staircase leading upwards.
As she rounded the central pillar she saw the faint glimmerings of light ahead and as her footsteps mounted the last few steps she realised that the light came from one of the cells along the corridor. The door stood open and unsure how to proceed Ceri tiptoed forward and looked inside.
She saw a man lying motionless on a bed. The room was furnished with a chest and a worn rug. The stone walls were bare apart from a silver coloured
crucifix above the head of the bed.
The man turned his head towards Ceri and snapped, “Go away! I told the
other brother, I do not wish to join the feast!”
The sight of his face wrenched a gasp from Cerian because she saw that his
eyes were filmed over and she knew that he was blind, “What’s your name?” “Brother Bedwyr,” the man replied grudgingly, and then more curiously,
“yours?”
“Cerian,” Ceri replied, and then feeling that she ought to say something
more added, “why don’t you wish to go to the feast, my lord?”
The man’s harsh laugh made her flinch and he barked, “Lord! Ha! I am no
lord and what I was has passed like the halcyon days of summer.” He paused,
“Cerian - art thou Welsh?”
“I believe so,” Ceri nodded and then felt silly because Bedwyr couldn’t see
her. She noticed the flagon of wine and the goblet sitting on the chest, “Would
you like a drink?”
“Thank you, little Sister, it might ease my passing.” Ceri started at the word
‘Sister’ but poured the wine. She knelt on the worn rung and slid an arm beneath
Bedwyr’s shoulders; he lifted himself slightly and sipped the fragrant, slightly
steaming wine.
“No more,” he gasped and slumped back against Cerian’s arm.
Tenderly she lowered him to the bed and took his hand. She placed the goblet on
the floor beneath the bed and rising from her knees seated herself beside the
prone figure.
“That wine is drugged,” Bedwyr spoke suddenly, “I am dying you see and
the wine is to make that dying less fraught.”
“It might mean a peaceful death,” Cerian murmured doubtfully. “My life has been far from easy,” Bedwyr laughed bitterly, “I do not see
why my death should be so.”
“Care to tell me about it?”
“I may as well - but you cannot absolve me, Sister, you would need to fetch
a priest to do that.”
“I disagree,” Cerian said gently, “I may not be able to absolve you but I can
forgive you. Tell me your story.”
“Once, long ago, I was a Knight of the Round Table. Artus was my best
friend, he chose me to escort his wife, Gwenhwyfar from Lodegraunce to the
newly constructed castle at Camelot. On the journey I fell in love with her.
She was beautiful, her hair was the colour of corn in high summer and her eyes
were the eyes of deer in the forest. She wore her hair plaited and hidden from
view. I did my duty by my King and escorted the Lady Gwenhwyfar to my King. But the love and desire I felt for her did not diminish. One night, Artus
was away and my Lady called me to her, when I entered the room her lady-inwaiting had departed and she was alone. Her golden hair spilled down her back
in a train and when she turned to me I saw the love in her eyes. I could restrain
myself no longer; I took her in my arms and kissed her. Thus I betrayed my
king and I betrayed the trust he bestowed on me.”
“Perhaps it was fated to happen thus?” Cerian mused, “Betrayal takes two,
Bedwyr, she may have wanted you to father a child in Arthur’s name. But even
the bright and shining example of Camelot had to end. ”
“But why with me?” Bedwyr paused and then the words spilled from him like a dam that had been under pressure for too long, “but I did much worse. I
held a position of power in the court and many ladies admired me because I was
a knight - in my arrogance I thought I could even be the one to achieve the
Grail. It was my son, Galahad, by Elaine, whose destiny it was to take the Grail
back to Jerusalem. That was right, now, I know. But what grieves me most is
the wrong I did to one who was little more than a child.”
“Are you sure that you should speak of it to me,” Cerian enquired, “I am
very young, Brother, perhaps I should fetch a priest.”
“Tonight?” Bedwyr shook his head, “they wait for the coming of the
Princess. Tonight - if she passes all the tests the Lady Nimüe will
acknowledge her. She is probably eating and drinking in the Great Hall and I
doubt that she would have the time to listen to a fool like me.”
“I think she would.” Cerian replied firmly.
“You mean if you were her you would. Stay with me, Sister, forgive me if you can, you listen to my most grievous sins and somehow I feel as though a
weight has been lifted from me. What I tell you, Sister, is because I think you
will listen to me without judgment. There was another called Elaine of Astolat,
who told me that she loved me. It was before the Great Tourney that she gave
me her token and bade me wear it for her. I decided that in order to cover
myself with more glory I would enter the lists unrecognised only wearing her
token. This I did and was badly wounded because of it. She sought me out and
for two months nursed me back to health. And I refused her. I told you that I
was arrogant, in my arrogance I did not see that the very day I took her token,
that from the love in her heart I constrained myself to her. I do not think that
God will ever forgive me-” he broke off and Ceri saw the shine of tears on his
cheeks. “I-I did my liege great wrong even if Gwenhwyfar and I did love each
other, for even when she was condemned to death and I rescued her she could
not live with me preferring to end her days in her father’s castle.” Cerian stared at him in a mixture of contempt and horror and then she
looked at the broken man and thought What would it avail to berate him now?
Has he not suffered enough all these years. He knows the wrong he has done
and has been punished accordingly, does he not deserve forgiveness? And the answer, from within her heart whispered, He deserves all that and more. If you can find it within your heart, then forgive him.
Cerian took both Bedwyr’s hands in her own, “I forgive you Bedwyr, in the name of Queen Gwenhwyfar and Elaine of Astolat.”
And something happened. Two pale transparent figures flickered, wavered and then appeared either side of Ceri, one had long fair hair that streamed down
her back while the other’s hair was raven, but falling to shoulder level. The first
woman reached into Ceri’s hands and Ceri’s grip on Bedwyr’s tightened,
“Bedwyr, I pardon you, I never wanted you to die like this.”
“Elaine?” Bedwyr whispered, “Elaine!”
“Elaine.” The woman confirmed, Ceri’s lips moved but the voice that
emerged was not hers, “you heard me, Bedwyr, the door has been opened and I
may tell you that I forgive you the wrong you did. Adieu, fair knight.” The
figure wavered and then dissolved, the second reached into Ceri’s hands and
Ceri’s fingers uncurled from Bedwyr’s left yet continued to hold his right in her
own, the second voice was rich and deep and belonged to a Queen, “Bedwyr,
forgive me, I never meant this much hurt. At first, because I thought Artus had
no seed I chose you to father a child in his name - and then I fell in love with
you. I did not intend that for it brought shame upon me and upon Artus. I am
truly sorry, Bedwyr.”
Bedwyr’s face lit up, “Gwennie? Gwennie, I had to choose between you and
Artus and even when I chose you - you no longer wished my company and I
could not go back to my King. It