Colan woke to the persistent prodding of a toe in his back. He tried unsuccessfully to swat it away.
“Come on, boy, shift yourself,” rumbled the axe man he had met yesterday, whose name was Llywellyn. “The lady’s waiting for you outside.”
Those words woke Colan the rest of the way. He’d been bedded down in Morgaine’s hall with the other single men. He slept heavily, his belly full and his body safe for the first time in days. That sleep, however, had not been so heavy as to make him forget who he owed for these simple blessings and Colan scrambled to his feet as quickly as he could. None of the other men so much as stirred as he picked his way over their snoring forms. He gave his face and arms a rough wash in the bucket by the fire and accepted the cup of small beer one of the dark-haired women held out for him, remembering to thank her politely. He was only a guest here, and, surely watched by many others besides Morgaine.
Outside the iron-banded door, the dawn had barely begun. The morning stars still hung above the brightening horizon. Morgaine did indeed wait for him, sitting on a black horse with a white blaze on its brow. In her black cloak and deep blue gown she might have been a spirit of the night itself. Colan knelt. In return, he received a smile of approval as she gestured for him to mount the bay horse standing beside her black. This he did without question. He touched up his mount as she did hers. Without any further ceremony, they put the dawn to their backs and rode after the retreating night.
The ground was silver with dew and cobwebs. Mist hung heavy in the air, but Colan could tell by the feel it would burn away when the sun rose, bringing the first truly clear day of the spring. His heart lifted at this omen, and it emboldened him to risk a few glances at the one he should now properly call his lady. She was regal in her carriage. He had seen this much before, but he had not fully noted the calm dignity of her person. That cool and distant place where Laurel could ascend to from time to time in her anger was the place where Morgaine dwelt. She kept her dark eyes on the way ahead, and Colan could not help but feel she saw much more in the misted world than he did. He felt constrained by walls he had never before known existed.
“You do not ask me where we’re bound.”
Her voice seemed richer and fuller to him this morning, as if she were made greater by being out under the open sky.
“I trust you will tell me that when you are ready, my lady,” he answered.
By her smile, he saw that he had answered correctly. “We go to the sea,” she said. “Do you know why?”
“My lady, I do not.”
“It is to introduce you to some of your family, Colan.”
That light and simple statement struck Colan dumb. All the fear he had left out on the open water surged over him again. But he mastered himself. He must, for she was watching him.
“If that is my lady’s wish.”
She gave him a bare nod, not only acknowledge his words, he was sure, but to say “well done” and they rode on in silence.
It was full daylight by the time they reached the cliffs. Colan knew this place. It was the beach where he had come ashore. The brisk ocean wind made his skin prickle beneath his tunic and woolen cloak. He looked out across the pale green waves, remembering their harsh, salt touch and shivered.
Morgaine dismounted and handed him her horse’s reins. “We must leave them here. They will not stand in the presence of those we go to meet.”
There was nowhere to tether the beasts, so Colan hobbled them both instead. When they were secured, Morgaine led him down a rough and crooked path between the jumbled rocks.
The beach was nothing more than a narrow strip of pale sand scattered liberally with stones. The cliffs’ shadows hung over the place, so that they descended into a lingering twilight. Colan’s boat was still there, overturned on the sand, looking as if it had washed up lost and empty.
Morgaine stepped around the forlorn object, all her attention on the sea. The waves rushed and roared, splashing their foam onto the rocks. Gulls and terns wheeled overhead, taking advantage of the clear morning for fishing. Morgaine stood as an onyx counterpoint to this mercurial world. The very stones seemed ephemeral compared to her. They could be shifted and changed by wind or sea, but not even their might could move Morgaine.
She raised her arms. Her cloak fell back, and her billowing sleeves slipped down to reveal her strong brown arms. Colan’s throat tightened strangely at the sight of her smooth brown flesh. He wondered if he should turn away. But in the next moment, Morgaine began to sing, and all thought of movement drained away from him. Her voice was like no other. It soared to meet the birds overhead. It dove straight to the center of his soul. He could not understand a word of her song, and yet it pulled at him so strongly he thought for a moment he would be dragged down to his knees. It called out across the ocean, and he knew that if that call had been for him, not only would he have understood, but he would have obeyed whatever command it contained with tears of joy in his eyes.
When the magnificent song ended, sorrow stabbed Colan. Perhaps he cried aloud. He could not be sure. All he knew was that Morgaine lowered her arms. At her feet, the eternally restless sea had gone absolutely still.
From these unnatural waters, the morverch rose.
The bards sang of the sea’s women as beautiful creatures. They spoke of long white arms and golden hair. He knew now that those who created such verses had ever seen the beings that lifted their heads and shoulders before him. He counted six of them, yet he knew there were others he could not see. Corpse pale they were, yet life flowed abundantly within them. Nets of light danced and shimmered under the surface their skin as if beneath shallow waters. Soul and will sparkled in them, creating shadows as well as light in their eyes which slanted, far too large and far too dark in their narrow faces. Weeds and flowers tangled in their wet hair that flowed down to cover their rounded shoulders and breasts and then spread out to float in the water. He could feel the strength of it pouring out, like the force of the tide that their presence held so still.
What would it be like to be near one of these women? To touch her, to know her, to have the tide of his being drawn up from his depths and mingled with all this strange and wild beauty? As the thought formed, his flesh crawled. It was as if he had suddenly entertained carnal imaginings for one of his sisters. With their pale skin and eyes of profound depth, these were like his sisters, but they were so much more. They were present and immediate, blotting out all other things with the strength of their selves. He knew how their voices would sound once they spoke. He knew if he walked forward and grasped their hands, what their touch would be like.
He knew they were the ones who had whispered to him on the open water.
Welcome, they said to him though their mouths did not move, and not one of them stirred. Welcome, Cousin.
His heart leapt to be greeted so. Without thinking, he went to them. He strode hip deep in the still salt waters, so that he might grasp their cold, damp hands, and be pulled forward so he could kiss their shadowed cheeks in peace and welcome. They smelled of salt water and strange flowers, and their chill sank deep into him. The cold did not matter, for it was as familiar to him as human warmth was, even though he’d never felt it before. It was part of him, and he rejoiced in its revelation.
You come in strange company, Cousin. The sight of Morgaine standing infinitely patient on the shore flashed through his thoughts, although he did not turn his head away from the morverch.
He stiffened a little, but kept hold of the two soft, cold hands. “That is my lady Morgaine,” he said carefully. It could not be that these were Morgaine’s enemies. He did not think he could bear it if that were so.
Oh, yes. We know Morgaine. The words rang strangely in him, and he was filled with fleeting images, of a distant ship, of a woman in despair on the shore, of a storm heaving up without warning, and a child, a child rolling in the waves and crying out …
“Do they speak to you?” called Morgaine..
“You cannot hear?” he asked, surprised. The cousin nearest him just grinned, and he saw her teeth were very sharp.
“It is you they mean to speak with, blood to blood, kin to kin. My ears cannot comprehend such speech,” replied Morgaine, seemingly unperturbed. “You have a power that I cannot match in this, Colan Carnbrea. There are not many who can claim such at thing.”
The nearest of his cousins drew her hands away and settled back, as if resting on her haunches. The water could have been little more than a yard deep, yet she was hidden in it almost to her shoulders. Did she draw it up around herself like a garment?
Why have you come now, Cousin? She, they, asked with that silent voice. You fled us before.
Regretfully, Colan knew he had no choice but to tell the truth. “I did not know it was you, before. I thought I heard was my sister, who has cause to wish me dead.”
They did not look one to another as a cluster of human beings might, but kept their unfathomable gazes on him. Ah! They sighed. And why do you return to us now? Why with Morgaine?
He wavered for a moment. As strong as the welcome he felt among the morverch was, the feelings that welled up in him in Morgaine’s company echoed through him just as strongly. “I owe her greatly.”
We know this too. they said, a little sadly he thought. That is why she brought you here.
“I do not understand.”
The one nearest to him leaned forward a little. Her hair swayed and curled where it trailed in the water. She wants something of us, Cousin. Of all of us. She never comes but that she is wanting. And because you have made a pact with her, she will have you make one with us. She stretched out her hand again and laid it on his arm. It was long and slender. The sunlight slipped across and beneath it, as if she were filled with ephemeral light in place of blood.
He laid his warm hand over that cool one. “If that is how it is, then that is how it must be. I am sworn, Cousins.” And I must finish what I have begun.
Yes. She sighed deeply. Her free hand moved back and forth through the water, as if judging texture the way a woman might judge the fall of cloth. It occurred to Colan he should be able to see through that water before him to the sea floor, and yet he could not. Without even knowing what you chose between, you chose the land and the mortal realm, as did your mother. She paused. Though she gained much more than you. She settled back again, resting easily in the waters among her sisters. Ask her, your lady, why she has brought you to us.
For the first time since he had seen the morverch, Colan glanced back at Morgaine. “They wish to know why I … why we have come.”
“Because your sister Lynet will pass over the water soon, Colan,” said Morgaine, her voice firm, but sad. “She cannot be allowed to reach Camelot.”
For a moment, Colan could do no more than stand there. In his wonder to meet them, to touch that part of himself that was their kin, he had forgotten the other songs of the morverch. Those songs told of the doom they could bring down on those who sailed their seas.
Down on Lynet who would go to Camelot to try to persuade Cambryn’s faithless queen to come to their aid.
He licked his lips and tasted brine. “Camelot will not answer. They have ignored us in all this disaster.”
“Camelot will answer.” Morgaine’s words were dark and they were certain. “Guinevere will come, and I am not ready for her, yet.”
That last word was as cold as the morverch’s. It held a deeper threat than any he had ever known, long and old and infinitely patient.
He turned to his cousins yet again.
He did not have to speak. They had heard and understood, probably more quickly than he. The nearest of them shook her head, in anger and sorrow both.
There are laws, Cousin. For each deed and doing, there is a price.
“What price?” asked Colan.
All the morverch looked past him, glowering at Morgaine on the shore. Morgaine did not make one sound. Could she see their anger? Of course she could. Morgaine’s eyes would not miss such burning resentment.
Come with us, Cousin and no more will be asked of you. By any. His cousin once more lifted her cold hands from the water. A single strand of weed twined around her wrist, dripping silver and trailing down to mingle with the curling locks of her hair. Come to us and you may do just as you choose.
He saw their world then; the cool, eternal twilight and the sudden shafts of sun, how they flew free of even the hand of God that pinned man to earth. He felt the threat of death, time and care fall away. Nothing mattered but those who flew beside him through that half-light realm, not life, not soul. That was for the land, and the land was far away.
He strained toward that dream, but as he strained, he felt another tie binding him. It was not duty, not blood or his deeds and damnation. It was Morgaine, there on the shore. It was her will and his oath together holding him there. Anger rose up slowly, swelling like a storm wave. He had not felt the reality of that bond, but now that he knew it was there, he knew he would never lose the touch of it again.
She was using him. With that kiss she had demanded she had bound him to her because she needed what he could do now. He would have cried out to God, but God had made it abundantly clear that He was willing to leave his unrepentant prodigal to drift in this storm of lesser powers.
Very well.
Suddenly reckless, Colan caught up his cousin’s hand. She smiled. She thinks she has me.
“Listen to me, cousin,” he said softly so that Morgaine could not hear. “My sister has broken faith and cast me out. It is because of her I make my pact with Morgaine. Lynet, left me with nowhere else to turn. If not for that, I would not trouble you … but nor can I join with you.” They had known this when they cast out their invitation. He was sure of it. They tempted him for the same reason Morgaine had tested him, to see what he would do. “You spoke truly. I have made my choice, and I must be true to word and deed already committed. I know you would not welcome me if I were otherwise.”
He felt the push and pull between his strange cousins, and knew they communicated heart to heart.
We can raise up the seas against your sister, against our cousin, if she comes to us, said the morverch. Her voice in his thoughts was flat yet keen, rhythmic as the waves and biting as the winter wind. But if you would have it done, the price will be another life. If you seek death from us, you must pay for it with your own death. You must give us a life, Cousin, by blood or word. No stranger to you may pay this price in your stead.
A life. The words pulsed in him. Another life. He looked to the woman who stood on the shore, and those who waited in the sea. He remembered all he had felt this morning. He felt himself leaning toward Morgaine, wanting to prove himself to her, to show his strength and his loyalty. This was true, and it was false. It was true because in his heart he wanted God and all the world to see him lead his land to safety where his father could not. But it was false, for Morgaine had bent and bound that desire to her own usage.
“A life for this deed,” he said quietly, facing the morverch once more. “One that is bound to me and mine to give. This I promise you.”
Did they know? He felt their currents running through him, bemused and shrewd. Oh, they knew. They perhaps had even hoped for it.
His cousin slid toward him. Whether she rose up or he sank down, he was not sure. But now her eyes were level with his own. For a moment, she pressed her cool cheek to his. Beware of her, Cousin. Her plans run deep and long, and her eye sees farther in the dark than yours does at noon. We would not willingly harm you, but the caprice of humans is not ours. We will do as we have said, and take what has been promised.
“I understand you.”
She glided away again to join her sisters. She smiled at him, and that smile was wicked and wild, sharp and fierce. Then she and all her sisters receded until their white forms mingled with the green and white sea waters, and all the wild liveliness contained within them released itself into the sea again, causing the waves to rise up and rush forward. The surge wet Colan to his chest and filled his ears with a roar that sounded like nothing so much as laughter.
The dream and the wonder were all gone. With clumsy, heavy strides, Colan dragged himself out of the frigid ocean to stand beside Morgaine.
“What did they say?”
For a confused moment, it was strange too look on her, so colorful and so still. The morverch filled his thoughts and senses. It would be a long time before he shook them off. Still, he mustered his attention for the woman in front of him. It would not be good to let his mind drift while he spoke with her. “They will do this thing, but there is a steep price. I must deliver to them a life, mine or another.”
She inclined her head regally. “You have done well, Colan. Do not fear. A life will be found.”
Heart and pride warmed to these words, and his belly knotted to feel it happening. “I am not afraid, my lady. I knew it would be so.”
“You are learning quickly, my young lord. I am pleased.”
“Thank you, my lady.” He bowed, a gesture which pleased her. She walked past him, and he followed her back up the steep, ragged path. The winds were bitter against his drenched skin and he clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering. When they reached the horses once more, he undid the hobbles and helped Morgaine into her saddle, as befitted a good servitor, before he mounted his own horse.
“Where do we go now, my lady?” he asked, taking up his reins.
As she turned to look at him from one dark eye, Colan realized he had made a mistake. He had asked no questions when they came here, why should he ask them now?
“We go home, since you ask, my young lord,” she answered him, her words now holding a subtle edge. “We go home to wait.”
She wheeled her horse around and rode toward the east and the rising sun.