SUDDENLY the overpowering scent of apple blossoms that permeated Avalon became cloying. I needed to be above the orchards on the rough slopes of the tor, the central hill rising above our island.
A remote part of me rejoiced that at last I would be able to fulfill my destiny to take care of Curyll on whatever path life took him. A more immediate part of my heart ached that I would leave The Morrigan to die alone.
And she had not taught me the ritual for the healing magic.
I felt empty, drained.
Hastily I walked into the thickest and oldest part of the apple groves — from which the island drew its name — where the trees and underbrush grew so thick, only hedgehogs and rabbits traveled there.
Deep within the thicket lay the beginning of the secret path to the top of the tor.
The Morrigan had dismissed me.
I choked back the loneliness that thickened my throat.
Would I ever have a home again? A place where I belonged and could come and go from whenever I chose?
I must move along a different path now, a path that was both familiar and alien.
I wished I could stay with The Morrigan until she passed from this life. Mine should be the task of preparing her shroud and celebrating her life in song when the Ladies committed her to the funeral pyre. Mine!
But I knew she wouldn’t allow that. I had been dismissed.
A destiny that lies elsewhere, The Morrigan had said. Suddenly I longed for the people who had made my early years special.
Was my destiny to be as celibate as Da? I hoped not.
Da had known a woman. Else I wouldn’t be his daughter. Or was I one of those children conceived on Beltane when a woman often mated with many men so that none could truly claim me?
I knew a moment of rebellion in my heart. If the man I called Da wasn’t truly my father, had only adopted me upon the death of my mother, did I have an obligation to obey his wishes for my future?
I considered seeking out one of the young men on the nearby isle and grabbing one chance at union with the Goddess. Immediately my heart pounded louder, my skin chafed at the confines of my simple gown. The secret dampness set my feet prancing anxiously. I smelled my own musk and needed to complete the aroma with a man’s sweat and need.
“’Tis selfish,” I told myself sternly. “The Goddess, not Da, has decreed my future. I will mate when She decides the time is right.”
The Goddess manifested Herself in other ways than sexual union. I knew I must seek Her out on my last day on Avalon.
I had to climb the tor along the ritual labyrinth.
Young men wound their way up this path on the eve of the Summer Solstice. Many tests and traps awaited them along the way. Reaching the top, without faltering or turning back, was part of their quest for manhood. No bard could claim a man’s torc unless tested by the tor. Just as a warrior lad could not claim a man’s torc until tested by combat in tournament or battle.
Priestesses followed the labyrinth as a test of their worthiness to represent the Goddess — after their first Beltane. I wouldn’t share Beltane this year. But I must climb the tor anyway. I knew it. Felt it in my bones and my womb.
The scent of damp earth and new sprouts rose sharply with my footsteps. I wiggled my toes into the Pridd. The aroma of new green life became intoxicating.
As soon as I knew I was alone and out of sight, I cast off my clothing. I must approach the Goddess as myself, unable to hide behind the mask of garments.
Then I stopped at the white spring and sipped some of the mineral-laced water. A short distance away the Christian hermit presided over the red spring. He wasn’t about, but he never denied anyone access to the healing waters. Here I sipped a little of the metallic-tasting water before I bathed my hands, face, and feet in a ritual cleansing before mounting the tall hill.
Wood sprites and flower faeries flitted about, enticing me to abandon my quest. I laughed at their joyful antics but never strayed from the looping pathway. They played with sunbeams and shadows diverting my gaze from natural obstacles in my way. I brushed a low-hanging branch, heavy with droplets from last night’s rain. Soothing coolness showered down on my heated skin. I shivered in surprise and then delight.
Huge yew trees formed an arch over the obvious path. Their shadows obscured the continuation of the labyrinth. I peered around the trees without shifting my feet off the narrow walkway. A green faery alit on a time-rounded boulder to my right, slightly higher on the slope. He laughed at me and pointed between the trees. I saw only a blue faery within the shadowed arch, not the continuation of the path.
“Are you pointing at him because he is in the opposite direction of the way I must walk?” I asked. The green faery giggled and flitted off, back in the direction I had come, but parallel to my previous steps and climbing slightly higher.
I smiled and followed him. My feet found the narrow places cut deeply into old turf. Barely wider than my own foot, the way was uneven, treacherous to bare toes. But I saw it now. Upward I climbed. A straight path up the side of the tor existed. It was shorter than this one by three or four times the distance. Shortcuts are not the way of ritual or gaining knowledge.
Panting, I reached the rounded peak at last. The scent of cedar filled my head, but I saw no trees. Nothing but sheep-cropped grass, a jumble of man-high boulders, and a splendid view of the marsh and river that made an island of Avalon. Beyond the dark, peaty water, lush farmland and pastures stretched on and on clear to the horizon. If I looked very hard, I could see all the way to the Irish Sea, all the way to... Could I see all the way to the Saxon Shore where Curyll nursed a sore head and aching shoulders after the latest battle?
I spun deosil in a circle, glorying in the freedom of the wind refreshing my naked skin, of the birds calling me by name, and the faeries as my constant companions. As I spun, I glimpsed a shining opening. The boulders subtly shifted shape. They became two uprights topped by a low lintel — an ancient barrow where unknown people of forgotten ages buried their dead. Beneath the lintel, a gateway slowly opened into a bright Otherworld.
The green faery darted into the opening, beckoning me to follow. I couldn’t move.
Annwn, a male voice whispered in my mind. You opened the gateway to the land of Faery.
I looked all around me to see who spoke. A green faery, grown to the size of a tall man, stepped through the portal, from his world to mine. All of him was green: hair, eyes, pointed ears, skin. Like my winged companions he wore no clothes. But he had dropped the wings from his back when he grew.
I studied his maleness, trying not to be obvious about my curiosity. A new heat flushed my skin and tightened my nipples. My breasts grew heavy, and my mind refused to think beyond wondering what he would feel like in my hand, inside of me....
I am Cedar, he said with his mind. He took my hand and led me around the barrow to a spring and pool hidden within a deep forest that hadn’t been there before the gateway to Annwn had opened.
You opened the doorway, Wren. You followed the labyrinth correctly and prepared the way for me to cross from my world into yours.
There on the moss, beside a crystal pool, with the scent of cedar flooding my being, I sank to the earth, wondering what I had done. Was I still in my world, or had I wandered into Annwn without realizing it. Did I care?
A dozen winged figures fluttered above me, giggling with the joy of life. Only Cedar remained fully grown.
“Are you the same faery who kissed my nose on my seventh birthday?”
He nodded and smiled. Then he touched the tip of my nose with his fingertip. The scent of cedar filled my senses with happy memories of that day.
Rest, friend, Cedar said. You have earned repose after the arduous climb. By your trials you have done us a great favor.
“What favor?”
Rest. We will talk when you are ready. For now, enjoy what you have been denied on Beltane.
My winged friends folded their wings and alit on my body. They caressed and tickled my heated skin to new heights of ecstasy while Cedar watched, longing in his green eyes. The faeries fluttered their wings against my breasts until my nipples tightened into pink rosebuds. They tugged upon my earlobes and fanned flower-scented air across my face. The tiny hairs on my face and neck stood up straight, straining for a repeat of the sensuous breath of faeries. Then, my friends moved down into the wisps of soft brown hair that hid my feminine secrets. They giggled and tickled with fluttering wings, tiny bird feathers, and seed tassels from the grass. The scent of cedar intensified and blended with my own feminine humors.
Cedar’s hands hovered over me, never quite touching. I longed for him to join his companions in this game of sensuous pleasure. I closed my eyes, half-dreaming.
A niggle of doubt crept into my mind. I shushed it and lay back, receptive to whatever the faeries gave me.
The intensity of the faery caresses increased, grew bolder, larger. My muscles shivered and tightened again and again until I thought I must explode. New delights fluttered up through my being. My body awakened and demanded more until I convulsed in spasms of joy.
I opened my eyes.
Cedar stretched out on the moss beside me. He seemed larger, more human than I remembered. His greenness seemed to fade and flicker darker. His very pronounced maleness drew my gaze.
The other tiny figures fluttered around his head in a myriad of colors.
Heat burned my cheeks. I returned his bold stare, inspecting every inch of his perfect body. Definitely male. Definitely aroused and ready....
You are beautiful, friend Wren. His voice rippled as if many minds spoke the same words through his voice. He smiled at me with full lips that begged me to kiss him.
“Do you speak for all the faeries?”
The tiny winged figures nodded and giggled vigorously. They rose in a flurry of delight, flying intricate patterns that could have been a sigil of power, but not one I knew.
Our numbers decrease, Wren. We need more friends such as you, or we will fade into the Otherworld, unable to come forth.
“My father told me that. I don’t know how to help you, other than to be your friend.”
Bear a half-caste child for us. A child who will walk both worlds and hold the portals open for us. A child who will mature in your world and be able to bear or sire children to give us new blood and strengthen our numbers. He caressed my neck, drawing me closer to him. My heart raced at his touch. His full lips molded to mine. The other faeries renewed their titillation of my body.
My previous sensual joy deserted me. I stiffened. “This isn’t right, Cedar.” How could it not be right? I was more than ready for sexual union with a man. Most any man would do.
Cedar was not a man for all the erect power and glory he displayed.
We cannot give you another opportunity, Wren. Transformations are... difficult. The gateway opens very rarely for us.
“I’m sorry. I can’t do it. I don’t know why. I just can’t.” I rolled over, turning my back on his perfection and my need to draw him and his seed deep within me. My knees drew up to my chest of their own volition.
You are ready.
“Ready to join with a man of my own kind. I’m sorry, Cedar. I’m sorry. I’ll do what I can to open the portals for you. But I can’t mate with you.” I looked back at him, over my shoulder, keeping my knees protectively close to my chest.
That must be enough, Wren. Friend.
My green faery faded and shrank. His color intensified to the deep dark green of a cedar tree in high summer, and his rainbow wings returned. When he was no larger than my finger, he blew me a kiss and smiled. But he didn’t giggle. None of my companions did. They flew silently away. A hint of sadness slowed their retreat.
“Come back when you can. Don’t abandon me,” I pleaded with them.
As long as you are our friend, we will be with you. You have only to look in your heart to find us. He flew in a looping circle to seal the promise.
Exhaustion swept over my body and my spirit. I melted and blended with the land, too spent to know where the moss ended and I began.
Time drifted by me. A sense of unease remained deep in my belly. Had I made the right choice? Bearing a half-faery child wouldn’t be so bad. Would it? Would the faeries survive if I didn’t call them back? Too late. They said the transformation was too difficult to try again.
I think I slept for a time.
When I opened my eyes again, the forest had disappeared, replaced by the familiar turf and boulders I could see with my mundane senses. The spring and pool remained but much diminished in size. I stretched and sat up, only to discover the image of Dana, the Goddess as fertile Pridd Matron, standing at my feet. Dressed in the blue draperies of the mother of all She radiated a glorious aura of pure white. She stood beside a huge gräal, the cauldron of Life, and stirred the contents with a gnarled wooden staff. Bright strands of Life streamed upward from the gräal as if they were steam. They spread outward, connecting every plant, rock, water droplet, animal, and person. This was the source of the pattern of Life. I needed to reach out to the Life energy, examine it, and understand it once and for all. The many-colored strands of Life as well as its pattern eluded my grasp.
Dana smiled and raised Her hand in blessing. The gräal faded into an insubstantial shadow, but the bright energy of Life remained. The Goddess became younger, clothed in white like a virgin bride.
I scrambled to my knees, instantly alert. Mortals were rarely granted true visions while fully awake and unaided by magic. The Goddess and Her pantheon of Gods came to us in dreams.
Do not regret your rejection of Cedar, my child. A husband and children will be yours, when the time is right, the Goddess said through my vision. Your destiny will be shared by many generations to come. Generations fathered by your beloved Curyll. This I promise you and seal.
Instantly She transformed into an aged grandmother, lines of wisdom and experience creasing her face. She drew a circle in the mist with the tip of her finger. The mist glowed along the path of Her gesture. The faeries know that you are the key to our future. They will stay with you. Once more She became the mother, nurturer, and guide.
I had seen Dana in all Her guises: maiden, matron, and crone. The vision was true and unalterable. Deep in my heart I knew I would share all three phases of life with Dana: maiden, matron, crone. But I would be remembered as a matron.
She faded from my view, a breeze scattering her draperies and image into tendrils of mist.
A chill fog crept up the slopes of the tor from the marsh. I shivered in the new cold, longing for my discarded clothing.
I reached out to hold on to Dana, to reassure myself that this was a true vision and not a dream of wanting. The mist thickened where She had stood. I caught one more brief glimpse of the gräal and the pattern of Life before it, too, became one with the mist.
Keep us alive in your heart and in the hearts of your children. In this way, you will be the mother of us all, the multiple voices of faeries and Goddess called to me as if from a great distance.
Warmth filled me from within and without, protecting me from the weather.
The sun glowed blood red on the horizon. I hadn’t much time to retrieve my clothing and meet The Morrigan and her Ladies for one last shared meal. For a time I had been the maiden, The Morrigan was the matron, and the Ladies the crone. The little village on the Isle of Avalon had maintained all three aspects of the Goddess for many generations. That pattern would break when I left at dawn. The community of The Morrigan would die, and Britain would move into a new pattern dominated by some other community.
I must make the most of our final time together, for I’d not see The Morrigan again. The only mother I had known.
At dawn I would stand on the dock and sing for my Da to come for me. We would return to our wandering ways for a time until I moved on to become a mother — the mother of Curyll’s children.
Curyll! Da would take me to my true love, my destined husband.
The Goddess had promised.