“WE will have a grand Beltane tonight,” I told Marnia the next spring. “The moon will be waxing, nearly full, a good omen.”
“That’s what you said last year.” Marnia pouted. Gradually, over the winter and spring she had begun following me on my missions into the forest and fields for herbs and plants. She still acted as if she resented my presence in her father’s stronghold. But I noticed that she was most disapproving in Berminia’s presence. When we were alone together, she acted almost as if she enjoyed my company and the lore I taught her.
Cedar and his friends had shyly fluttered around her hands last time we went to the faery pool. I didn’t show her the cave and tunnel.
“We did not starve last year.” I shrugged my shoulders in reply. I’d done what I could as priestess and as lady of the caer to keep us all safe and fed. The harvest had been larger than I had expected. We had gone hungry a few times, but never for long. The Goddess always provided something.
Sometimes the fresh meat or sacks of grain came from Father Thomas’ refugees, but I knew my Goddess had as much of a hand in the provisions as Jesu Christus.
“You didn’t have to give away so much of our harvest.” Marnia sounded like her older sister with that statement. There was never enough food available to suit Berminia.
“The Goddess returns our deeds, good or bad, threefold.” I dismissed the argument. “I will feed Yvain and then we will see what awaits us in the forest. I noticed a cluster of wildflowers just budding last week. Perhaps they are ready to make wreaths and garlands for tonight.” I smiled as I lifted my four-month-old son from his basket. Yvain had straight dark hair like Carradoc, but the brilliant blue eyes of my father. So far he had shown only an easy temperament, smiling at everything and laughing often.
He waved his fists in delight as I offered my breast. He fed eagerly. I never had enough milk for him and had to supplement with a wet nurse from the village. But I gave him what I could, when I could. A deep contentment washed over me. My sense of unity with the Goddess and the universe narrowed to the tiny focus of my son. What more could I want out of life?
Curyll. The voice in my head sounded like Cedar’s giggling faery communications. Quite suddenly, I was transported back to the quiet pool on Avalon where I had confronted my sexuality in the form of Cedar grown to man size. The Goddess had promised me children by Curyll and a husband. I’d had a husband. I had one child.
Could I still have a meaningful relationship with my childhood love?
Our party of flower gatherers increased to seven by the time we actually left the caer. We all seemed determined on making a grand Beltane tonight. I suspected the nudity and blatant sexual overtones might be reduced this year. Father Thomas’ influence had grown now that Carradoc no longer exerted stern disapproval of everything Christian.
I did what I could to keep the old ways. Showing Marnia the magic within the flowers and herbs we gathered was only a small part of that. Mostly I worked toward balances in the way I settled disputes and apportioned work, food, and land.
Caer Noddfa and its peace balanced the violence of the war-torn land.
By noon, Yvain fussed continually from the sling on my back. I fed him again and changed him. But still he fussed and chewed his fist, needing more nourishment. I couldn’t concentrate on my preparations for Beltane. So I handed him to Hannah and sent him back to the caer with most of the women. Newynog whined to follow my son. She knew I’d be safe alone. She wasn’t sure my son would be safe without her. Sometimes it seemed the aging wolfhound was as much a mother to Yvain as I was.
I laughed at the dog and patted her ears affectionately. I understood her need to follow the baby. With a bounding leap, she positioned herself beside Hannah and our son.
Marnia looked longingly at their retreating backs.
“Go,” I shooed her away. “Rest and eat. I must be alone for a while before I cut the sigils into the newly plowed fields.”
Marnia ran lightly to catch up with Hannah and the others. Kalahart had offered marriage to her a few weeks ago. At the time Marnia seemed reluctant to accept him. I wouldn’t force her into a marriage she didn’t want, not after my father had forced my marriage to Carradoc with near disastrous results. Now that Marnia knew the choice was hers, I hoped she would accept Kalahart tonight.
Grateful for the quiet that surrounded me now, I sought the little spring that cascaded into a pool where the faeries gathered. Since midwinter, the lady who inhabited the watery depths seemed to sleep. I could barely detect her presence. The sword embedded in the altar had passed to the next Ardh Rhi. Was that the treasure she had guarded for the “Chosen?”
Twilight was the time of the faeries’ greatest strength. At noon, I had the place to myself. I sank to the ground, listening to the quiet burble of water, letting shafts of sunlight warm my back.
The gentle rhythm of life within the forest slowly penetrated my hectic thoughts. My breathing slowed, my heart quieted until I heard earthworms crawling through the ground beneath me. Plants sent small shoots toward the sun, swelling with sap until they formed buds, ready to burst into bloom. My blood flowed with the sap, upward, reaching for the light of life. I felt rocks shift and crumble in a slow, endless pattern. I knew each particle of every mineral. The Pridd spun its path through the universe. I became a part of the whole, indistinguishable from any one part. Life from light, light into life....
Time passed as it always does. Consciousness returned. I became aware of another being close by. With my eyes still closed, I heard the rhythmic click of teeth chewing and the soft sigh of breath. Cedar buzzed my ear with a bright giggle. I opened my eyes slowly, prepared to meet the Lady or whoever had found this hidden place. The sun had shifted around to midafternoon. It shone brightly against the brilliant white coat of a very large horse drinking from the creek that drained out of the pool. I’d met the horse before in two visions. Instead of spears and shield, he carried saddlebags today. The Dragon Rampant seal of the Ardh Rhi’s couriers stood out on the worn leather.
The horse thought of himself as Taranis — the god of Thunder.
’Twas the horse I had heard munching on the grass. His master lounged against the grassy bank, his bare feet dangling in the pool.
“About time you woke up, Wren,” he said. A smile creased his face.
“Curyll!” I squealed with delight and launched myself along the water’s edge into his arms. I noted that he wore the ordinary bronze torc of a warrior, not the gold of a king. His leather tunic and leggings were travel-stained with dust and sweat. They looked as if he had worn them for many years.
He hugged me tightly, laughing as we rolled in the grass. “You still have twigs in your hair and grass stains on your skirt, my Wren. I’m glad you haven’t changed.”
I stilled within his embrace. So much had changed in the year since I’d seen him last. Our bitter parting words left a barrier between us.
I withdrew from his arms and stood up, brushing the offending grass and twigs away. “You are welcome to the hospitality of Caer Noddfa, as are all travelers.”
“So formal, Wren?” He cocked one eyebrow in imitation of my father’s gesture. This time he succeeded.
“The last time we met...”
“I was a foolish young man. I’m sorry, Wren. We’ve both had time to grow up since then. Many times I regretted leaving you.” He reached a tentative hand toward me, then withdrew it.
“Many things have happened to both of us since then. We’ve had to make choices that took us along different life paths. Did you marry Morgaine?”
“No.” He turned his back on me, shredding a long stem of grass with agitated fingers. “I have carved a different destiny for myself than to be her pawn. Or your father’s.”
My heart lifted. He hadn’t been ensnared by Morgaine’s magic or her need for demons.
He hadn’t succumbed to my father’s manipulations either.
Another must bear the name Arthur. My Curyll was free — and so was I.
Silence stretched between us. He rose slowly, gathering his boots and whistling for his horse. I couldn’t let him leave on a note of sadness again.
“We were friends for a long time before... before we chose separate life paths. Are we still friends?”
“Of course, Wren. You are a dear friend, whom I trust above all others.” He dropped his boots and grabbed me. We clung to each other for a long moment.
“Thank you for not hating me, Wren.”
Words gathered around a lump in my throat and would rise no farther. I hugged him tighter, gathering his scent and the feel of his strong arms about me deeply into my memory.
I looked up at his face, needing to memorize the adult angles and planes to cherish in later years. I traced the hump of his broken nose and the little scar near his hairline with my forefinger. I relearned every inch of his dear countenance.
He stared back at me. Our eyes met for a very long moment. Then slowly he dipped his head and closed his eyes. I rose up on tiptoe to meet his kiss. We lingered and savored the taste of each other until we both ran out of air.
He jerked his head back, staring at me. His hands gripped me tighter, the caress of a man with a woman in his arms.
“Forgive me, Wren, for thinking you the child I once knew. You have grown into a beautiful woman.” This time his kiss was longer, deeper, filled with more passion than friendship.
Dana help me, I returned his embrace with all the passion bottled up in me, cherishing every moment. His warmth filled me with a light-headed need to linger beside this sacred spring and pool for as long as the sun shone on the feast of Beltane. The feast of fertility when we all joined with the land to celebrate the eternal bounty of the Goddess.
He held my face with both of his large hands. This time his kiss promised fulfillment. My blood heated and flowed faster, as sap warmed and swelled within a flower.
Pressed against me, Curyll swelled as well.
We sank to our knees, still holding each other. I deepened our next kiss, accepting the inevitable.
“Wren, are you sure you want this?” he whispered, his finger tracing the neckline of my gown.
“How could I not want you, Curyll? I’ve waited for this moment since I first knew what men and women do together. And today is Beltane.” I traced the line of his neatly trimmed beard, lingering on a scar I didn’t remember. The hump on the bridge of his nose added interest and character to his face. I kissed it, flicking my tongue over the old break.
We stretched out on the grass. His hand shifted down to cup my breast, kneading it through the intrusive clothing I wore. He bent his knee, pressing between my legs with an exquisite pleasure. His other hand tangled in my hair, drawing me into yet another searing kiss. Heat filled my body, adding weight to my breasts, to my limbs, to my mind.
We rolled again so that I lay upon the grass. He unbuckled his ordinary and worn sword belt and returned to kiss me again before I could miss his comfortable weight against my breasts. Our clothing disappeared in stages. We explored each new exposed area with wondering hands, gentle kisses, and awe-filled gazes.
The earth, the wind, the sun, the cascading water, the trees, and the faeries watched and blended their gentle caresses to our own.
His penis filled my hand wondrously as he swelled even larger. My legs parted beneath his questing hand and then he filled me. Joy exploded within me in bright arrows that sped outward to include my lover. The faeries caught it and hurled it back, amplified a hundred times.
We arched and moved in rhythm with the pulse of life all around us.