“YOU must flee Mordred’s wrath,” Father Thomas said weakly. Blood dribbled from his mouth as we laid him facedown on a pallet of soft ferns and old cloaks beside the spring and pool.
I bathed his poor back with fresh water from the enchanted pool.
“Do not waste your strength with words, Father Thomas,” I hushed him. “I’ve sent for your wife and son.”
“He’s right, Wren,” Marnia said. She wrung her hands in worry, but her voice was clear and matter-of-fact. “Morgaine and Nimuë will push Mordred to chase after you. They’ll burn this entire forest to flush you out.”
“I can’t leave you all here to suffer at the hands of another tyrant,” I replied. “Carradoc was bad enough. Mordred and his mother will be worse.”
“We can fend for ourselves, Wren. Take Deirdre and the twins and flee. Take a boat to Ireland, or find refuge in the mountains of Dyfed,” Kalahart urged, touching my shoulder in sympathy and regret. “Many will shelter the daughter of The Merlin. They still remember him in the mountains and secret hollows of Britain. We’ll scatter in all directions. Mordred will have too many to follow.”
“How many did we lose in the fire? I have to tend the wounded. It will take time for a message to get to Mordred.” I continued my grisly task, wishing for some betony, willow bark, and mullein.
“Too many of Mordred’s soldiers survived. They ride to Campboglanna to summon their master as we speak,” Kalahart said. “Mordred and his mother may have seen the flames from Campboglanna. You have no time, Wren.” He lifted me from my crouch beside Father Thomas. He shook my shoulders gently to emphasize his concern.
“I can’t leave until you are all safe. I won’t leave you...”
“Wren,” Marnia interrupted. “We can disappear into the forest, into the hills. Mordred won’t find anything but a razed fortress and a deserted village. You must flee, though. Take the royal seal he seeks. He needs Arthur’s seal. The client kings demand Arthur’s seal — not a new one.”
“How many did we lose?” I asked again. My stepdaughter and friend made sense. But I had to know the ugly truth of my vengeance against Carradoc. “How many did I kill with that fire?” I couldn’t think beyond the cost to my village of Carradoc’s anger.
“We think only Carradoc, may demons eat his soul,” Kalahart replied. “We haven’t had time to count.”
Just then, Father Thomas’ wife and son bustled into the clearing, sobbing and frightened. The wife gasped and rushed to her husband’s side. She crossed herself repeatedly, sobbing loudly through her prayers.
“Go. Wren. With my blessing,” Father Thomas gasped. A restless rattle rose from his chest, choking his last breath from him.
“Bury him here.” I closed my eyes to control my grief. “Build a church dedicated to him. Make a tomb in the foundations for his grave. Make it a stone church. A big stone church that will last two thousand years.”
“Bless you, Lady,” the wife said. “Bless you and thank you. But go. Now. Before we have to make a place for you in the tomb as well.”
Time rocked me forward and back. I would join my old friend in the tomb soon enough. And Arthur would be placed at my side.
o0o
Another pool in a deep forest where faeries played drew me southward, I returned to the haunts of my childhood, near the home of Lord Ector and Lady Glynnis. I and my daughter and my two grandchildren built a circular hut of lashed branches, half-sunk into the ground beside the remains of the fallen log I had danced across so many years ago. We told no one of our coming, not even Berminia, who sheltered with Lord Ector and Lady Glynnis while she waited for Cai to return. Deirdre and I lived quietly, gleaning a living from the rich forest. Newynog hunted for us when we needed meat.
My villagers had given us anonymous clothing and staples to feed us for a while. We lived simply, almost happily through the long summer. Then one morning we awoke to a nip in the air and storm clouds gathering in the West. We would have another day of fine weather, perhaps two, before autumn descended upon us in full force.
As long as the weather remained dry, armies could march to battle. Arthur still had a chance to defeat Mordred this campaign season.
Cedar and his companions came to me, one by one, at the pool where we had taught Curyll to speak without a stutter. The doorways between our worlds had nearly closed forever. Only a few faery folk could slip through at a time. Our world was much too cold for them to stay long, even on a warm day.
Other portals to other worlds opened even as the gateway to Annwn closed. But I would miss the faery folk.
Each day, I asked the wind and the trees for news. Change, they called back to me. Change.
Nothing more. I shivered in fear. Arthur’s reign of peace, justice, and rule by law was coming to an end. Who would keep a balance in Britain when he died? What would come next?
Change.
At noon the trees whispered, He comes.
“Who,” I asked.
The one you wait for.
I hurried to meet Curyll by the pool. He had known where to look when no one else could find me. Perhaps the faeries allowed him and no one else to penetrate to their pool.
He dismounted from his great white stallion wearily and rested his forehead against the saddle. “I owe you an apology, Wren,” he said without preamble.
“Curyll, are you well?”
Worry lines cut deeply into the corners of his mouth and eyes. His hair showed more silver than gold and his shoulders sagged with defeat. His great sword, Excalibur, seemed too heavy for him to lift from its jeweled sheath across his back.
“I’m tired. Tired of fighting, tired of stumbling in the dark without guidance, tired of living.”
“I’m sorry, Curyll. Did you lose in Armorica?”
“No,” he snorted a laugh. “I won the battle but lost everything I held dear — my wife, my friend. My faith in mankind and my kingdom, too.”
“Guinevere?”
“Entered a house of holy sisters. She’ll stay there as long as she lives.”
“Lancelot?”
“Wandering in some forest, living as a holy hermit, half mad with guilt.”
“My son Yvain?”
“Waiting with Lord Ector and Lady Glynnis for my return. He’s safe. He’s loyal and true. I trust him more than any man living. But Gyron, Deirdre’s husband, is dead. He died honorably in battle. He’ll never see his children grow....” He choked and leaned more heavily against his horse.
“And you?” I asked him, reaching a tentative hand to brush the lines of fatigue and worry from his face. “How do you fare, truly?”
“I returned home to find my honored nephew had declared me dead and usurped my crown. I find my government in chaos, the great seal missing, and you outlawed with a huge price on your head.”
“I have the seal. I’ve kept it safe for you.”
“Keep it safe a while longer. I trust you to know what to do with it when the time comes.”
“What will you do now?”
“I meet Mordred in pitched battle two days hence, at Campboglanna. He holds the fortress and is backed by Uriens’ army and a horde of Picts from the North. I stormed Camlann and won back my capital. Nimuë and Morgaine poisoned each other rather than face my justice. I have no idea what happened to Nimuë’s son. He was not among the dead or captured. I have but one more foul nest to clean out before I can call Britain mine again. Before we are all safe from the forces of darkness.”
Once again the vision of his death shook me to the core. The two of us lying side by side in a tomb, not quite touching — separated in death as we had been in life.
“Curyll.” I held out my arms to him, needing to hold him close one more time.
“I’m sorry, Wren. I should have listened to you. I should never have trusted Mordred.” He enfolded me tightly, nearly bruising my still healing ribs with the fierceness of his grief. “You still have twigs in your hair and grass stains on your skirt.” He tried to chuckle and failed.
I held him just as tightly, pressing his heart close to mine, hearing them beat in unison. Tears burned my eyes. I blinked them back. Curyll needed me strong and confident.
“Of all those I held dear, you are the only one who never broke your promises, Wren. Only you. I should have respected that.”
A lump in my throat blocked any reply. I kissed his cheek instead.
“I ask only one more promise from you, Wren.”
“Anything within my power. You have only to ask.”
“Don’t let my dreams die. See that the next generation, and the next, hears the stories of a time when laws and peace and justice worked. Make sure they know that trust and honor and promises mean something. Maybe then, sometime in the future, those ideals will mean something again.”
I nodded my acceptance. My tears flowed unchecked. Or were they his?
“Promise me, Wren. Promise by the life of your faeries. Seal it in a circle.”
We kissed then, hungrily, desperately, needing to reaffirm the love we had known since early childhood. Together we spun in a circle, locked together, promising each other.
The past and the present became one with the future. My life pattern became complete.
Faeries flew about our heads, widening the circle of promise to include all of the beings of forest and field, of this world and the next.