Page 36 of The Faerie Morgana

Two quiet years passed on the Isle of Apples.

Priestess Murragh died, and the acolyte Minet was selected to take her chair.

The Blackbird did not visit, and the priestesses stopped asking Morgana about him.

She was glad of that, because hearing his name still pained her.

The king did not return, either. Morgana sometimes saw Braithe gazing out toward the lake with a look of longing, and she knew her handmaid was thinking of Arthur.

She thought of giving her a tincture to help her forget, but unless Braithe asked for it, it was better to let her deal with her sadness on her own.

A steady stream of supplicants brought their petitions to the moss-hung anteroom, seeking love potions or soothing salves or healing tinctures.

Along with their purses, they left news of Lloegyr and Camulod, precious bits of information.

The priestesses passed them on to the acolytes, who were always hungry for news about the homes and families they had left behind.

Braithe collected the stories and made sure Morgana heard them.

She took care to report them without elaboration, knowing how unreliable word of mouth could be, but even so, a feeling of optimism grew among the Temple inhabitants, including Braithe and Morgana.

There were many accounts from a variety of women, and they were tales of triumph.

There could be no doubt that Lloegyr flourished under the rule of King Arthur Dragoun.

He had gathered a great number of knights in Camulod, and they were reputed to be the bravest and strongest fighting force Lloegyr had ever seen.

They wore the finest mail and helmets the armorers of Camulod could create, and they carried magnificent swords worked in the forge of the castle.

They had pushed the Romans to the east and north, out of Lloegyr, and the brutal Saxon warriors fled with their defeated allies.

Arthur posted cadres of knights in each of Lloegyr’s outlying villages to guard against raids, and in the peace he created, harvests and husbandry throve.

His people were both proud and content, well-fed, safe in their homes, prospering.

As the end of the third year of Arthur’s reign approached, Morgana said to Braithe, “I think the Blackbird was mistaken.”

The two of them were seated on their favorite stone bench under the holm oak, savoring a gold and scarlet autumn sunset and a sweet evening breeze. Morgana had untied her sandals to let her toes sink into the cushion of thyme beneath the bench.

Braithe was in the act of shedding her own sandals, but she paused and turned to look up at Morgana.

“Mistaken?” She straightened, her eyes wide.

Morgana supposed she had startled her. It was the first time she had voluntarily spoken the Blackbird’s name in nearly three years. “Mistaken about what, Priestess?”

Morgana lifted her face into the slanting sunshine. “He said I had ruined everything by allowing Uther to die. That it was too soon for Arthur.”

Braithe’s cheeks colored at hearing Arthur’s name. “If he said that, then I agree. He was mistaken. Your half brother is a brilliant king.”

“I have worried over what the mage said,” Morgana admitted. “I have lain awake more than once, thinking about it.”

“You could have told me.”

“I think you suffer your own hard thoughts in the darkness, brat. You do not need mine.”

Braithe dropped her head. “My thoughts are of no matter. Imagination only.”

“Imagination, perhaps. But your thoughts do matter.”

“Do you know what I did?”

Morgana’s heart sank. The truth of it was in Braithe’s eyes, in her voice, in her trembling lips. “Oh, brat,” she said softly. “I had hoped that wouldn’t happen.”

“Are you angry?”

“I am not.”

Braithe sighed, a small, sad little sound.

“I couldn’t help myself. He is so beautiful, and so wise and kind.

” She spread her hands in a gesture of surrender.

“In my dreams, I see him again. Lie with him again.” She expelled a sharp breath and turned her gaze out to the lake.

“I know better, never fear. I know who I am. I understand who I am not.”

“And you understand that Arthur has no choice.”

“I understood even then.” Braithe turned her blue gaze up to Morgana’s dark one. “I am not sorry.”

“I am glad to know that.”

“Are you sorry you didn’t protect King Uther?”

“I am not. He was a cruel man who cared only for power. He was a traitor and a murderer.”

“Why didn’t the Blackbird see that?”

“He must have seen, yet he did not want him to die in battle.” The old hurt, the persistent and painful feeling of unfairness, rose in Morgana’s breast again, hardly lessened by the passage of time.

“He would not explain. He would not let me explain.” Her voice dropped. “He was wrong, but he will not say so.”

Braithe started to say something, but she stopped herself. She was gazing at something past Morgana’s shoulder, and Morgana twisted her body to see what it was.

An old fox, his coat glowing red in the amber light of the setting sun, had slipped around the trunk of the holm oak.

His muzzle was tipped with silver, and the plume of his tail trailed the ground behind him.

He padded toward them on soft, silent feet, and when he reached their bench, he sat down, peering up at them without fear.

Morgana murmured, “Hello, little brother.”

The fox’s tongue lolled, showing his sharp teeth.

“Ah,” Morgana said. “Yes.”

Braithe whispered, “What is it?”

Morgana held up one finger to ask her to wait. She bent forward so the fox could look into her eyes and she could look into his black, shining ones. He closed his mouth and tilted his sharp little face to see her better.

Morgana felt the beat of the fox’s heart in her own breast. The pulse of his blood matched her own. His breathing slowed to the pace of her lungs, and for many moments, they were one and the same, the fox and the woman, connected by the living force that binds all things.

At last, the creature’s mouth opened once again, tongue lolling, teeth bared to the air in his grin. He jumped to his feet, tail flicking against the mossy earth.

Morgana nodded to him and touched her heart with her fingers. The fox’s nose quivered in answer before he whirled to dive back into the woods. As his silver-tipped tail vanished into the underbrush, Morgana sat back, breathing a sigh of release and acceptance.

“What was his message?” Braithe asked.

“That things always change, and it’s useless to grieve for something that has not happened.”

Braithe wiggled her bare feet, thinking. “These creatures who speak to you—how does that work?”

“I could not tell you.”

“Because you don’t know?”

Morgana stood up, shaking the skirts of her robe free of the dust that accumulated on the bench.

She stretched her arms up toward the stars that had begun to appear in the darkening sky, letting her fingers spread against the pattern of sparkling lights.

“Do we know why we love seeing the stars at night? Or why the changes of the moon call to us as they shift from new to old and back again? Or for that matter—” She paused, letting her arms settle to her sides and giving her handmaid a sympathetic glance.

“For that matter, how it is that our feelings bind us to one another? We do not touch or see or hear feelings, but we know they are part of us, deeply twined in our hearts and minds, perhaps more powerful than any force in the world.”

Braithe was silent for a time, savoring this. Then, closing her eyes, she quoted:

Trust the earth.

Believe the sky.

Doubt not the air nor deny the water.

Seek not for answers. They will find you.

“Sometimes the words of the Lady are beyond my comprehension,” Morgana said.

“Often.” Braithe smiled at the thought as she bent to replace her sandals. “We should go to dinner, Priestess.”

“Very well.” Morgana also slipped her feet back into her sandals and tied the laces. They rose and began to walk side by side up the slope toward the Temple.

They had just reached the Temple grounds when Braithe said unexpectedly, “Don’t laugh, Priestess, but this stanza—I think I understand it.”

Morgana raised her eyebrows. “Do you indeed?”

A blush warmed Braithe’s freckled cheeks, but she nodded. “I think so.”

“Tell me.”

“It seems to me—that is—”

“Now, brat, there is no need to be shy about it. Share your insight with me.”

“It seems to me that it means today’s sorrow may be tomorrow’s joy.” Braithe shrugged. “Because the answers will find you in their own time.”

Morgana paused, midstride, and turned to look down at her handmaid. “By the hand of the Lady, Braithe. That is a profound reflection.”

Braithe looked up at her, suddenly grinning, all seriousness evaporating. “Do you think so? Well, good! I hope I remember it!”