PROLOGUE
It was raining, and the castle was absolutely frigid. Even in the early summer, the chill of the stones still infected the inhabitants of Loryle. Especially the old man.
He lay in an old bed in the deepest caverns of the castle. Only his children, and their servants, knew that he had not passed on long before, that he was dying now, in the bed in which he had been born. His eldest daughter, Gwynned, had already selected an appropriate flower arrangement, displayed at the foot of the bier in the church chapel. Yes, his body would be there before long.
But Salazar Slytherin was not ready to die, alone in the cold and the rain, his children elsewhere in the castle he had built himself nearly fifty years before. He summoned his last bit of strength, and called for his servant. The amulet was heavy in his hands.
The girl appeared in his door. She would be found by the Coven in a few years, but for now he alone knew of her talents.
"Girl," he rasped, his voice creaky as the hinges of the rusty door downstairs, "Come here."
"Yes, Master," she replied, quickly coming to his bedside. "Do you desire a cup of water?"
"No. Have you learned of writing, what I instructed Gwynned to teach you?"
"I have, Master."
"Take the parchment, quill, and ink from my desk, girl. I am dying, and I want to you to take down these last words, and send them to the Headmaster at Hogwarts, to the North."
"Master, I will see that what you wish is done. I have pen and parchment ready." The girl now sat at his desk, quill in hand.
"Good. Start with this:
"Headmaster Ravenclaw, son of Rowena, I, Salazar Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four, address you. I am on my deathbed, and send you my last prophecy of the Future. These events shall befall a millennium after my death, but I know you shall ensure this parchment?s safety through the being.
"You know I have seen the birth of a dark-haired wizard who shall rise up to become as great as I, to bend the forces of evil at his will, though in the distant future. But it has been made clear to me that he shall not be the final Heir. There shall come a brown-haired wizard, born of pure blood, unlike his predecessor, but he will take on mine through an ancient magic. This pureness of wizardry in him will make him greatest of the great Dark Wizards? One thousand years exactly shall pass before he will rise to power. This I, Salazar Slytherin, have forseen.
"End of letter."
The girl nodded, and continued writing for a minute. "Shall I seal it, Master?"
"Yes. Use the gold seal."
"I shall, and then send it off to post. Master, is there anything else you wish me to do?"
"Come over to me, girl. I have an even more important task for you." He coughed. She walked over to his side, letter in hand. "Here, take this. This is the Amulet of Houle, and within a few years you shall learn of its significance, but for now, all you need to do is protect it." He handed the girl the amulet.
"Certainly, Master," she said, and he could feel her surprise.
"Go now, and tell no one of the amulet." Before the second of his grandmother?s Daughters had made her way down the steps, Salazar Slytherin coughed, and died. _________________ I was like:Sandra Bullock is great.
May, 2020 A.D.The two women sat in the centre of the vast circular room. Thirteen marble pillars supported the high ceiling's delicate arch, and twelve men and women kept their silent watch, one to a pillar, the vacant one sticking out like a sore thumb. It was twilight out, the moon high in the sky. Some of its delicate light shone through the glass mosaic dome that was the ceiling; but most of the light came from the intricate candelabras, again, one to each pillar. The floor was also a mosaic, a swirl of gold and blue, a perfect counterpart to the celestial image overhead.
A small table sat in the centre of the room, and this was where the two women sat. In the centre was a pool of water, but it was no ordinary water. It was the colour of gold, a sheer, translucent gold that one might have thought glass, if it had not moved with a soft inner current all its own.
"So, it is time I begin with our earliest origins, it is time you know your past. Our past," one woman said. She was the elder of the two; her dark hair had grown long over the years, and hung loose, spilling over her shoulders as she leaned back in her gilded chair, relaxed.
"Caro," the other said harshly, "Not now. You are not so old that you should pass on your position before your time. There are years to tell me this." She was not relaxing; she sat ramrod-straight in her chair, with her hands folded on her lap.
"No," Caro said simply, and she flicked her wrist. The flames of the candles burned brighter, and for the first time, the twelve watchers saw the two women clearly.
The other woman was no woman, or if so, barely. She was but a girl, and her hair was pale brown, tied away from her face. She was not pretty in an ordinary way, but she was unique, interesting-looking. Her milky blue eyes shone luminously in her pale face, and her chin and ears were slightly pointed. The girl was dainty and elfin, like a forest nymph or water sprite, and she was beautiful in the most ethereal sense. But there was some note of unease and discomfort in her eyes, and her expression was guarded, a deliberate blankness she had mastered early in life.
It came as a surprise that Caro stood out in such sharp contrast. While the other girl was slender, Caro was painfully thin. Her dark brown hair was streaked lightly with grey, and her face was tired and worn. And while the girl radiated energy, the light was gone out of Caro. Her unusual golden eyes were no longer so golden; they were pale and tired, though they still smiled on the girl. The bones in her face stood out, and her skin was not its creamy shade. It was now of an even paler, even death-pale, wan hue.
"Oh, Caro!" the girl said, her voice sounding half-strangled. "I should have known."
"It would have served no purpose. But know this; my life is short. It is time for you to know." Caro flicked her wrist, and the lights fell dim again. She placed her hands over the golden pool in the table, and when she took them away, a craggy castle of weathered stone stood on cliffs high above the sea, where the pool of water had been.
The birds in the air flew about the castle, swooping and cawing in the living cinema within the table. It was possible to see a small figure up in the highest tower of the castle, but impossible to say whether it was a man or a woman.
"This is Tintagel," said Caro. _________________ I was like:Sandra Bullock is great.
In her third year of marriage to High King Uther Pendragon of Briton, Queen Ygraine gave birth to baby girl, whom she named Morgan Le Fay. Morgan was not their first child; she had an elder brother named Arthur, some two years old, who lived far away in the home of Sir Ector, but she did not know this. Neither did the vast majority of the Britons.
Her birth was celebrated with pomp and ceremony in the kingdom, especially in the castle of Tintagel, where the little girl was born. She was to spend her childhood in that old and gloomy castle in Cornwall; but knowing nothing else, it did not seem gloomy to her. Morgan's father was often gone, "to manage the kingdom", as her mother often said. When he was home, she was spoiled and petted, which she rather liked- for her half-sister Morgause, the King's bastard daughter, resented her and hated her. Morgan was only too happy to give her an excuse to be jealous.
When she was nine, the great enchanter Merlin came for a visit. It was her first encounter with the magical world, and the memory of it would stay with her for the rest of her life.
"Wash up, Princess. Your mother says to have you down before quarter-past, and it's already quarter-till. Tsk, tsk. All this finery to put on, for the sake of some rogue enchanter. Up, girl! We haven't all the time in the world," Sula said, fussing at her. Sula was her nursemaid, and Morgan considered her sort of a nuisance. She was rather fond of Sula, but all the same, she was a bother.
"I'm hurrying," said Morgan, as she slipped off her bed, where she'd been playing with the doll Mother had given her for her birthday. She was fonder of Mother than Sula, but twice as wary of the woman who had given birth to her. Queen Ygraine did not stand for nonsense or misbehaviour from anyone, especially her daughter. She loved her daughter; but in a way that never obstructed her firm hand with discipline and duty. Morgan, now heeding her mother's command, made her way over to the washbasin, and commenced sluicing off her face and hands. Sula threw a towel at her, so she quickly dried them, then took her place in the centre of the room.
"Now, stand straight. There... However did you get that dress so filthy? You haven't been out in this weather, have you?"
"No." Morgan was trying desperately to stand straight.
"You know what your mother will say to that. No, I won't tell her this time, she's all a-twitter with Merlin being here, but next time there'll be a spanking for you. You may be a royal, but that don't count for nothing with the good Queen, God bless her. Stand straight, I said! Arms up... there. Why, I rather like this colour on you, Your Highness. The red looks nice with that black hair of yours... dratted laces, I told her she should have a tunic made, knowing you, it?s be more practical-like."
"I suppose..."
"Don't squirm so! But no, little Morgan Le Fay must have a dress she says, and her being Her Majesty I of course couldn't argue with her. Ah, the time! Oh well, at least we've the laces sorted out. There. Now, your shoes... not the boots, Princess, the nice ones... yes, those. You lace those up... Ah, here it is, the enameled pendant, that should do nicely. Don't it look pretty? Oh, dear sweet Holy Lord, the time! Go!"
And with that Morgan was scooted out of the room. She made her way down the long, cold hallway to her mother's rooms.
"Just in time!" exclaimed Guenever, her mother's lady-in-waiting, a woman of noble blood who served the queen. "Your Majesty, your daughter is here."
A tall woman with dark, raven hair came to the door. She was dressed in a gold colour that set off her daughter's red dress.
"Sula was supposed to send you early, Morgan," her mother said sternly.
"It's not my fault, Mother. There was trouble with the dress. Wouldn't a tunic be better?" her daughter replied. Ygraine motioned for Guenever to leave the room, and drew her daughter inside.
"Morgan," she said, "You are no boy, you are no heir as your father had hoped. I know he would rather you play the tomboy, but you are nine. In a few years you will be married, a Queen or Duchess yourself. It is time for you to grow up. No amount of tunics can remedy that. Do you hear me?" Morgan nodded. "Then let us go, we're already running behind schedule."
Ygraine took her by the hand, and they set off in the direction of the Great Hall. It was certainly not the first time Morgan had been in the room, for she ate there every night, but still she was struck by how honoured Merlin must be. They were having a banquet for him, in celebration of his coming, even if he was only stopping the night.
"Mother, how do we know this enchanter?" Morgan inquired curiously.
Her mother gave her an odd look. "We just... do."
"No, really, I'd like to know."
"He's your cousin. Didn't you know?"
Morgan gasped. "Isn't he... old?"
"Not so old." Ygraine smiled faintly. "He was still a young man when I first met him, and he has made himself a great help to Uther."
"Oh.... Oh!" They had reached the Great Hall.
Ygraine had had the walls covered in colourful tapestries, and the wooden tables draped in silk of red and gold. The best tableware had been set out, and Uther waited for them. He, like Morgan, was dressed in red.
But it was Merlin who caught her attention. He was a tall man, in his late thirties, though his hair was prematurely grey. The enchanter wore long robes of blue, and he carried a wand.
He smiled when he saw them, and walked over to them.
"My Queen," Merlin said, bowing. "It is my greatest delight to look on you again. I have brought a gift, from my travels..." He removed a silver, owl-shaped pendant with smoky blue eyes - sapphires - from his voluminous robes.
Her mother gasped. "Oh my... this is too much, Merlin..."
"Consider it a present from another, then." The enchanter smiled, and this time Morgan was sure he was referring to some matter that only he and Ygraine knew of. But he turned to her, bowing again, and all was forgotten. "Hello, dear Princess..." He trailed off, blinking in surprise. "Ygraine? Why, she is one of us, she is-"
"It does not matter. Forget it," the Queen declared, with a wave of her hand.
"Mother-" Morgan, protested, curious, but when she saw the look in her mother's eyes she did not press the issue. She curtsied. "It is a great honour to meet you, as well, enchanter Merlin."
"I think we will meet again, young Morgan Le Fay."
His silvery eyes met her own green ones, and she nodded in assent.
But they were not to meet again for three years. Fighting broke out in Cornwall, and Uther moved his family to Luguvallium in the north. Morgan grew to adolescence in the stifling silence of her mother's court; she knew little of magic, only the herbal healing lores that were passed down from generation to generation. Those needed so little magic that they might have been done by a common peasant instead of a royal daughter of the King.
It was not surprising that Morgan came to acquire her silence and invisibility in those years. Ygraine often shook her head in confusion when her daughter slipped in and out of the castle, with no one the wiser until she was late for some meal or banquet. Morgan took her punishments soundlessly, and many of Ygraine's ladies who had not known her since childhood thought her simple. But she was not; rather, she was torn apart, by this sudden coming of adulthood and magic she could not control. Magic is like that, for some, the power biding its time until the point where inner turmoil is greatest, then surging forth unbidden. And Morgan's power was worst; for she was a rare one with what they call the Second Sight, and she thought herself half-mad from her fortune-telling dreams.
But Ygraine, who had been a great sorceress in her youth, saw none of this. She did not see her daughter silently despairing and languishing in her torment, lost to the changes that had taken her by surprise. It was a time when religion and magic conflicted, when many thought it was impossible to separate one from the other. How wrong they were; and Ygraine ignorantly, willingly, gave up her talents when she became Uther's queen. She laboured under the delusion that her magic was sinful, for her faith decreed that she was a woman and should not have a man's power. And magic was frowned on anyway.
So things were the year Morgan Le Fay was twelve, when Uther died, and Arthur was crowned High King.
It was September, and already the weather was cool. Morgan wrapped her blue cloak around her as she slipped from the tower. She had been sent to her chambers alone that night, Sula and her other maid having gone to the banquet of state where she was forbidden.
You are not old enough, Mother had said, You will know of what passes later, it is best you keep to yourself. It is too great a matter for such a daughter.
This from the mother who had, three years before, told her she must grow up. Now she was too young to attend a simple banquet, for visiting Sir Ector and his men. She, who was on the verge of womanhood! Meg, her chambermaid, had been married off at this age. At one time, she would have raged with anger; but even anger was beyond her now. She no longer felt much of anything.
But she had to go to the banquet. A dream had come, again; those dreams frightened her more than anything else in the world. The Sword, a voice had whispered, He who bears the Sword shall take his rightful place. But his undoing has already been wrought...The Fay will be his foe, it has already been written in the books of the Goddess...
Morgan was out of the North Tower before she sensed someone following her, someone who had mastered the art of his internal quiet as she had mastered her own. She spun around to face her follower, her raven locks whipping about her face.
It was the enchanter, Merlin.
She blinked in wonderment.
"Young Morgan?" he said, with equal astonishment. She bowed her head. "Why are you so far from the Great Hall on this fateful night?"
"My mother bade me to keep to my rooms, sir," she whispered softly. Morgan was no longer the outspoken child she knew Merlin remembered, and even so few words were rare from her. But she did not feel that the enchanter wished to force words from her; rather, that she was comfortable giving them to the old man she had met only once, but trusted.
Merlin shook his head. "She is not wise, in that. She would keep the kingdom's greatest sorceress in her rooms on such a night?"
"What!" she cried. "I am no sorceress, Merlin."
"She withheld from you even that, then? Then she is no one-time fool but a complete one. It is time you should learn what you are, young Morgan Le Fay. You are what once was a Lady of the Lake, when Avalon still stood in the realms of mortal men. A Maiden; and I am the sole male of their kind, so with training you would be as powerful as I."
Morgan gasped. "I, a Maiden? Then my mother has played false to me all these years, and my father, for my entire life I have known I am only a princess, and fit for nothing but woman's work and marriage. Often I have dreamt of the future, and thought myself a madwoman."
"You are a Diviner, then? It is worse by the minute. Morgan," he said slowly, "I cannot let the court know what you are; in pagan times they would have welcomed such things, but now magic is thought a curse, and worse in the hands of a woman. I think a day will come when the magical and non-magical worlds will separate, and in that day you would have the best of both, but now that matters not. Would you learn magic from me, in secret?"
"Yes, but I think we had best make haste to the Great Hall now." Morgan put her hand to her forehead. "The Sword..." she murmured.
"The Sword? Morgan, what have you foreseen?"
"He who bears the Sword shall take his rightful place... but his undoing has already been wrought... "
"Arthur!" Merlin exclaimed.
"Morgause," Morgan said, without knowing how she knew.
"Let us hope that our fears may come to naught... but for now, to the Hall!"
They raced toward the Hall, Morgan taking a shortcut she knew well. They ended up on the currently unoccupied balcony that overhung the vast room. From up there, they could see everything.
The High King lay in his chair, cheeks flushed, and he looked unwell. He had been sick off and on, for several months, Morgan reflected, but this was much worse than before. A tall, unfamiliar boy who looked like her father stood next to him. Uther coughed, and looked up.
"Daughter," he said faintly, though loud enough that she could hear him, "This is your brother, who I have named my heir before this... court..." He coughed, and coughed, not stopping until his face suddenly went pale and he slid down in his chair.
"Father!" Morgan screamed over her mother's wails and the cries that rang through the Great Hall. She ran down the stairs in the alcove off the balcony, reaching the ground floor at lightning's speed. Merlin followed her. Her mother clung to the chair, weeping, and the unfamiliar boy still stood next to the chair, in a daze.
She stood in front of her father, who quite obviously was not of this world any longer. Strangely, she felt no sorrow for the man who was her father, only a little regret that she had never known him well, and a small gladness that he had not suffered very much at the end. Morgan never knew how long she stood there, a moment or an hour, before she looked at the boy, her brother, Arthur who bore the Sword.
"You have taken your due place," she remarked. Her words sounded awkward and stilted even to her.
He half-nodded, half-shrugged, but said only, "I have accepted the crown."
"So be it," said Merlin, and then to Ygraine, whose sobs had subsided somewhat, "Would you like me to take you to your chambers?"
"No," her mother said, "Can you arrange his body to rest for a night in the chapel, before the pyre?"
"Yes, my lady."
"Then I will keep vigil by him this night."
Slowly, the room emptied of feasters, the fallen King was carried away, with Merlin and Ygraine at his side. Only Arthur and Morgan were left in the room.
"You are my sister Morgan Le Fay, then?" the High King said at last.
She nodded. "I am. You have already made an acquaintance with Morgause, I presume?"
A strange expression came over Arthur's face. "I... have."
"I know not of what you speak, brother, but I tell you this because you must be forewarned. It will be your downfall." As Morgan said this, a chill ran through her, and she shivered.
"Are you some sort of witch, then, an enchanter like Merlin?" he asked fearfully.
"It does not matter. I should not have spoken of it to you." With that, she left the Great Hall. She knew Arthur's eyes were on her as she walked away.
* * * * *
The scene slithered back into the gold water with a little splash. It was a moment before Caro spoke.
"You know, of course, what Morgan foresaw," she said quietly.
"Hmm? Oh, yes. Mordred. Morgause seduced Arthur before he knew he was the King?s son, and she would eventually turn his only son, begotten of that night, against him. They slew each other," said the girl slowly, still a little dazed by the magic of the table.
"I see your aunt has done well in teaching you the lore of coven."
"She knows more than people think."
At this, Caro laughed. "Oh, Mica, you know as well as I do that Ginny Potter knows more than you or I could ever imagine. Why do you think secrecy has been so enforced in the coven? It is rare even that Bearers know each other, rarer still that our Protectors know us as well. And the Squib? well, he isn?t much more than a little boy, only eight, it shouldn?t matter. You will be a much better Bearer than I. For years, I was warped by hatred of the man who killed my parents-"
Mica inhaled sharply, not quite gasping. "Not you, Caro, you?ve been so kind. You are kind."
"Time changes everything. Eventually knowing he was dead, by your uncle?s hand, was sufficient. I was embittered enough, once. It passes."
"I suppose," Mica said, in a tone not unlike Morgan?s snappish one so many centuries earlier. There was an odd, unreadable look in her eyes that had been lurking there the whole time, but now shone through clearly.
"Are you angry, Mica? Angry with the woman who took you away from your parents, who killed them?"
"Not Lowell, I could never be angry with her. I only pitied her, you know, from the time I was a very small girl. She couldn?t help being what she was."
"Then who?"
"Oh, Caro, you would never understand. We?ve never talked, have we? We?ve known each other for thirteen years, but how often have I seen you? Once every few years, like an aunt who lives far away, with the same polite courtesy. This is the first time in eighteen years that there are enough Protectors to even think about meeting frequently, and? and? you don?t know me at all. And I don?t know you."
Caro sighed. "Very well. I only want to help you, child, understand. But let me continue with this tale, because there are many things in the world you don?t know, and should. As there are many things in this world you don?t know, and shouldn?t."
Mica laughed, bitterly. It echoed in the large room. "I know too many of those things already." _________________ I was like:Sandra Bullock is great.
In her third year of marriage to High King Uther Pendragon of Briton, Queen Ygraine gave birth to baby girl, whom she named Morgan Le Fay. Morgan was not their first child; she had an elder brother named Arthur, some two years old, who lived far away in the home of Sir Ector, but she did not know this. Neither did the vast majority of the Britons.
Her birth was celebrated with pomp and ceremony in the kingdom, especially in the castle of Tintagel, where the little girl was born. She was to spend her childhood in that old and gloomy castle in Cornwall; but knowing nothing else, it did not seem gloomy to her. Morgan's father was often gone, "to manage the kingdom", as her mother often said. When he was home, she was spoiled and petted, which she rather liked- for her half-sister Morgause, the King's bastard daughter, resented her and hated her. Morgan was only too happy to give her an excuse to be jealous.
When she was nine, the great enchanter Merlin came for a visit. It was her first encounter with the magical world, and the memory of it would stay with her for the rest of her life.
"Wash up, Princess. Your mother says to have you down before quarter-past, and it's already quarter-till. Tsk, tsk. All this finery to put on, for the sake of some rogue enchanter. Up, girl! We haven't all the time in the world," Sula said, fussing at her. Sula was her nursemaid, and Morgan considered her sort of a nuisance. She was rather fond of Sula, but all the same, she was a bother.
"I'm hurrying," said Morgan, as she slipped off her bed, where she'd been playing with the doll Mother had given her for her birthday. She was fonder of Mother than Sula, but twice as wary of the woman who had given birth to her. Queen Ygraine did not stand for nonsense or misbehaviour from anyone, especially her daughter. She loved her daughter; but in a way that never obstructed her firm hand with discipline and duty. Morgan, now heeding her mother's command, made her way over to the washbasin, and commenced sluicing off her face and hands. Sula threw a towel at her, so she quickly dried them, then took her place in the centre of the room.
"Now, stand straight. There... However did you get that dress so filthy? You haven't been out in this weather, have you?"
"No." Morgan was trying desperately to stand straight.
"You know what your mother will say to that. No, I won't tell her this time, she's all a-twitter with Merlin being here, but next time there'll be a spanking for you. You may be a royal, but that don't count for nothing with the good Queen, God bless her. Stand straight, I said! Arms up... there. Why, I rather like this colour on you, Your Highness. The red looks nice with that black hair of yours... dratted laces, I told her she should have a tunic made, knowing you, it?s be more practical-like."
"I suppose..."
"Don't squirm so! But no, little Morgan Le Fay must have a dress she says, and her being Her Majesty I of course couldn't argue with her. Ah, the time! Oh well, at least we've the laces sorted out. There. Now, your shoes... not the boots, Princess, the nice ones... yes, those. You lace those up... Ah, here it is, the enameled pendant, that should do nicely. Don't it look pretty? Oh, dear sweet Holy Lord, the time! Go!"
And with that Morgan was scooted out of the room. She made her way down the long, cold hallway to her mother's rooms.
"Just in time!" exclaimed Guenever, her mother's lady-in-waiting, a woman of noble blood who served the queen. "Your Majesty, your daughter is here."
A tall woman with dark, raven hair came to the door. She was dressed in a gold colour that set off her daughter's red dress.
"Sula was supposed to send you early, Morgan," her mother said sternly.
"It's not my fault, Mother. There was trouble with the dress. Wouldn't a tunic be better?" her daughter replied. Ygraine motioned for Guenever to leave the room, and drew her daughter inside.
"Morgan," she said, "You are no boy, you are no heir as your father had hoped. I know he would rather you play the tomboy, but you are nine. In a few years you will be married, a Queen or Duchess yourself. It is time for you to grow up. No amount of tunics can remedy that. Do you hear me?" Morgan nodded. "Then let us go, we're already running behind schedule."
Ygraine took her by the hand, and they set off in the direction of the Great Hall. It was certainly not the first time Morgan had been in the room, for she ate there every night, but still she was struck by how honoured Merlin must be. They were having a banquet for him, in celebration of his coming, even if he was only stopping the night.
"Mother, how do we know this enchanter?" Morgan inquired curiously.
Her mother gave her an odd look. "We just... do."
"No, really, I'd like to know."
"He's your cousin. Didn't you know?"
Morgan gasped. "Isn't he... old?"
"Not so old." Ygraine smiled faintly. "He was still a young man when I first met him, and he has made himself a great help to Uther."
"Oh.... Oh!" They had reached the Great Hall.
Ygraine had had the walls covered in colourful tapestries, and the wooden tables draped in silk of red and gold. The best tableware had been set out, and Uther waited for them. He, like Morgan, was dressed in red.
But it was Merlin who caught her attention. He was a tall man, in his late thirties, though his hair was prematurely grey. The enchanter wore long robes of blue, and he carried a wand.
He smiled when he saw them, and walked over to them.
"My Queen," Merlin said, bowing. "It is my greatest delight to look on you again. I have brought a gift, from my travels..." He removed a silver, owl-shaped pendant with smoky blue eyes - sapphires - from his voluminous robes.
Her mother gasped. "Oh my... this is too much, Merlin..."
"Consider it a present from another, then." The enchanter smiled, and this time Morgan was sure he was referring to some matter that only he and Ygraine knew of. But he turned to her, bowing again, and all was forgotten. "Hello, dear Princess..." He trailed off, blinking in surprise. "Ygraine? Why, she is one of us, she is-"
"It does not matter. Forget it," the Queen declared, with a wave of her hand.
"Mother-" Morgan, protested, curious, but when she saw the look in her mother's eyes she did not press the issue. She curtsied. "It is a great honour to meet you, as well, enchanter Merlin."
"I think we will meet again, young Morgan Le Fay."
His silvery eyes met her own green ones, and she nodded in assent.
But they were not to meet again for three years. Fighting broke out in Cornwall, and Uther moved his family to Luguvallium in the north. Morgan grew to adolescence in the stifling silence of her mother's court; she knew little of magic, only the herbal healing lores that were passed down from generation to generation. Those needed so little magic that they might have been done by a common peasant instead of a royal daughter of the King.
It was not surprising that Morgan came to acquire her silence and invisibility in those years. Ygraine often shook her head in confusion when her daughter slipped in and out of the castle, with no one the wiser until she was late for some meal or banquet. Morgan took her punishments soundlessly, and many of Ygraine's ladies who had not known her since childhood thought her simple. But she was not; rather, she was torn apart, by this sudden coming of adulthood and magic she could not control. Magic is like that, for some, the power biding its time until the point where inner turmoil is greatest, then surging forth unbidden. And Morgan's power was worst; for she was a rare one with what they call the Second Sight, and she thought herself half-mad from her fortune-telling dreams.
But Ygraine, who had been a great sorceress in her youth, saw none of this. She did not see her daughter silently despairing and languishing in her torment, lost to the changes that had taken her by surprise. It was a time when religion and magic conflicted, when many thought it was impossible to separate one from the other. How wrong they were; and Ygraine ignorantly, willingly, gave up her talents when she became Uther's queen. She laboured under the delusion that her magic was sinful, for her faith decreed that she was a woman and should not have a man's power. And magic was frowned on anyway.
So things were the year Morgan Le Fay was twelve, when Uther died, and Arthur was crowned High King.
It was September, and already the weather was cool. Morgan wrapped her blue cloak around her as she slipped from the tower. She had been sent to her chambers alone that night, Sula and her other maid having gone to the banquet of state where she was forbidden.
You are not old enough, Mother had said, You will know of what passes later, it is best you keep to yourself. It is too great a matter for such a daughter.
This from the mother who had, three years before, told her she must grow up. Now she was too young to attend a simple banquet, for visiting Sir Ector and his men. She, who was on the verge of womanhood! Meg, her chambermaid, had been married off at this age. At one time, she would have raged with anger; but even anger was beyond her now. She no longer felt much of anything.
But she had to go to the banquet. A dream had come, again; those dreams frightened her more than anything else in the world. The Sword, a voice had whispered, He who bears the Sword shall take his rightful place. But his undoing has already been wrought...The Fay will be his foe, it has already been written in the books of the Goddess...
Morgan was out of the North Tower before she sensed someone following her, someone who had mastered the art of his internal quiet as she had mastered her own. She spun around to face her follower, her raven locks whipping about her face.
It was the enchanter, Merlin.
She blinked in wonderment.
"Young Morgan?" he said, with equal astonishment. She bowed her head. "Why are you so far from the Great Hall on this fateful night?"
"My mother bade me to keep to my rooms, sir," she whispered softly. Morgan was no longer the outspoken child she knew Merlin remembered, and even so few words were rare from her. But she did not feel that the enchanter wished to force words from her; rather, that she was comfortable giving them to the old man she had met only once, but trusted.
Merlin shook his head. "She is not wise, in that. She would keep the kingdom's greatest sorceress in her rooms on such a night?"
"What!" she cried. "I am no sorceress, Merlin."
"She withheld from you even that, then? Then she is no one-time fool but a complete one. It is time you should learn what you are, young Morgan Le Fay. You are what once was a Lady of the Lake, when Avalon still stood in the realms of mortal men. A Maiden; and I am the sole male of their kind, so with training you would be as powerful as I."
Morgan gasped. "I, a Maiden? Then my mother has played false to me all these years, and my father, for my entire life I have known I am only a princess, and fit for nothing but woman's work and marriage. Often I have dreamt of the future, and thought myself a madwoman."
"You are a Diviner, then? It is worse by the minute. Morgan," he said slowly, "I cannot let the court know what you are; in pagan times they would have welcomed such things, but now magic is thought a curse, and worse in the hands of a woman. I think a day will come when the magical and non-magical worlds will separate, and in that day you would have the best of both, but now that matters not. Would you learn magic from me, in secret?"
"Yes, but I think we had best make haste to the Great Hall now." Morgan put her hand to her forehead. "The Sword..." she murmured.
"The Sword? Morgan, what have you foreseen?"
"He who bears the Sword shall take his rightful place... but his undoing has already been wrought... "
"Arthur!" Merlin exclaimed.
"Morgause," Morgan said, without knowing how she knew.
"Let us hope that our fears may come to naught... but for now, to the Hall!"
They raced toward the Hall, Morgan taking a shortcut she knew well. They ended up on the currently unoccupied balcony that overhung the vast room. From up there, they could see everything.
The High King lay in his chair, cheeks flushed, and he looked unwell. He had been sick off and on, for several months, Morgan reflected, but this was much worse than before. A tall, unfamiliar boy who looked like her father stood next to him. Uther coughed, and looked up.
"Daughter," he said faintly, though loud enough that she could hear him, "This is your brother, who I have named my heir before this... court..." He coughed, and coughed, not stopping until his face suddenly went pale and he slid down in his chair.
"Father!" Morgan screamed over her mother's wails and the cries that rang through the Great Hall. She ran down the stairs in the alcove off the balcony, reaching the ground floor at lightning's speed. Merlin followed her. Her mother clung to the chair, weeping, and the unfamiliar boy still stood next to the chair, in a daze.
She stood in front of her father, who quite obviously was not of this world any longer. Strangely, she felt no sorrow for the man who was her father, only a little regret that she had never known him well, and a small gladness that he had not suffered very much at the end. Morgan never knew how long she stood there, a moment or an hour, before she looked at the boy, her brother, Arthur who bore the Sword.
"You have taken your due place," she remarked. Her words sounded awkward and stilted even to her.
He half-nodded, half-shrugged, but said only, "I have accepted the crown."
"So be it," said Merlin, and then to Ygraine, whose sobs had subsided somewhat, "Would you like me to take you to your chambers?"
"No," her mother said, "Can you arrange his body to rest for a night in the chapel, before the pyre?"
"Yes, my lady."
"Then I will keep vigil by him this night."
Slowly, the room emptied of feasters, the fallen King was carried away, with Merlin and Ygraine at his side. Only Arthur and Morgan were left in the room.
"You are my sister Morgan Le Fay, then?" the High King said at last.
She nodded. "I am. You have already made an acquaintance with Morgause, I presume?"
A strange expression came over Arthur's face. "I... have."
"I know not of what you speak, brother, but I tell you this because you must be forewarned. It will be your downfall." As Morgan said this, a chill ran through her, and she shivered.
"Are you some sort of witch, then, an enchanter like Merlin?" he asked fearfully.
"It does not matter. I should not have spoken of it to you." With that, she left the Great Hall. She knew Arthur's eyes were on her as she walked away.
* * * * *
The scene slithered back into the gold water with a little splash. It was a moment before Caro spoke.
"You know, of course, what Morgan foresaw," she said quietly.
"Hmm? Oh, yes. Mordred. Morgause seduced Arthur before he knew he was the King?s son, and she would eventually turn his only son, begotten of that night, against him. They slew each other," said the girl slowly, still a little dazed by the magic of the table.
"I see your aunt has done well in teaching you the lore of coven."
"She knows more than people think."
At this, Caro laughed. "Oh, Mica, you know as well as I do that Ginny Potter knows more than you or I could ever imagine. Why do you think secrecy has been so enforced in the coven? It is rare even that Bearers know each other, rarer still that our Protectors know us as well. And the Squib? well, he isn?t much more than a little boy, only eight, it shouldn?t matter. You will be a much better Bearer than I. For years, I was warped by hatred of the man who killed my parents-"
Mica inhaled sharply, not quite gasping. "Not you, Caro, you?ve been so kind. You are kind."
"Time changes everything. Eventually knowing he was dead, by your uncle?s hand, was sufficient. I was embittered enough, once. It passes."
"I suppose," Mica said, in a tone not unlike Morgan?s snappish one so many centuries earlier. There was an odd, unreadable look in her eyes that had been lurking there the whole time, but now shone through clearly.
"Are you angry, Mica? Angry with the woman who took you away from your parents, who killed them?"
"Not Lowell, I could never be angry with her. I only pitied her, you know, from the time I was a very small girl. She couldn?t help being what she was."
"Then who?"
"Oh, Caro, you would never understand. We?ve never talked, have we? We?ve known each other for thirteen years, but how often have I seen you? Once every few years, like an aunt who lives far away, with the same polite courtesy. This is the first time in eighteen years that there are enough Protectors to even think about meeting frequently, and? and? you don?t know me at all. And I don?t know you."
Caro sighed. "Very well. I only want to help you, child, understand. But let me continue with this tale, because there are many things in the world you don?t know, and should. As there are many things in this world you don?t know, and shouldn?t."
Mica laughed, bitterly. It echoed in the large room. "I know too many of those things already." _________________ I was like:Sandra Bullock is great.
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