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“We need five crystals cut from this bed. To represent the five points of this star. The celestial power I need to heal him.” She kicked off her boots and folded the hem of her gown, tucking it up around her waist. She waded knee-deep into the cold water and chiseled a portion of rough crystal from the bed under the sacred spring.

Lancelot yanked off his boots, splashed into the water, and quickly carved three pieces of the clear crystal.

Issylte yelped as she gouged her thumb with the tip of the knife but managed to chisel the final raw crystal.

Five radiant gems. The five points of the sacred star.

With a nod to Lancelot, she emerged from the water onto the dry floor of the cave, unfolded her gown so that it fell to her feet, and pulled on her leather boots.

He jumped out of the water and handed her the three precious crystals he’d cut.

As he pulled on his boots, she tucked the five astral gems into her bodice, near her heart.

The two quickly exited the sea cave, dashed back across the beach and up the steep path to the top of the forested cliff where the two horses were grazing.

They jumped into the saddles, gasping for breath, and raced back through the forest and up the cobbled stone path as twilight descended on Le Centre.

Lancelot went directly to Tristan’s room to inform the priestesses that they’d returned while Issylte searched the shelves where the sacred stones were kept.

She deftly selected the gems she would need—sacred merlinite stones, the warrior’s blue topaz gems, and her own emeralds.

Gathering the crystals and the ancient scrolls with spells for healing, the gifted guérisseuse rushed down the hall to her patient’s room where the scent of yarrow from the burning candle and the cleansing herbal fragrance of sage filled the air.

She laid her array of healing tools upon the table and turned to face Viviane, Nyda and Cléo.

“I must heal him. But I need to be alone. To focus. To channel my verdant magic into him.” Emerald fire sparked in her veins. “Please bring water from la Fontaine de Jouvence . I will need it to bathe him and for him to drink.”

With a tilt of her head, Viviane sent Nyda and Cléo from the room. The deep blue eyes of the Lady of the Lake washed Issylte in the healing waters of Avalon.

“I’ll leave a fresh supply of our sacred water just outside the door,” Viviane said. “And bring meals for you to keep up your strength.” The Lady of the Lake motioned to a cot beside the bed. “You can sleep here. And one of us will always be right outside, should you need anything.”

Viviane kissed her forehead and whispered, “Heal him, Lilée. Use all your knowledge and skill as a guérisseuse. Maiwenn’s love that fills your heart. The verdant magic of a forest fairy. Wield the divine power of the Goddess that flows in your veins. Guéris-le. Heal him.”

With the hint of a smile and a bow of her head, Viviane slipped from the room.

Issylte gazed at the warrior whose life lay in her hands. His ravaged body shook with fever, the stench of sickness assailing her nostrils. But his heart beat strong. And his limbs were lined with corded muscles. Rippled with youthful strength. Verdant power surged in her healing hands.

She made three crystal grids around the warrior’s bed, channeling the energy of the earth into his wounded body.

The merlinite stones formed the outer circle around his room as she applied her guérisseuse training, whispering spells from the ancient manuscripts transcribed by Morgane la Fée .

The White Fairy of the Sacred Stones, one of the trio of fairies who had learned from the master wizard himself.

For the second layer of protective crystals, Issylte alternated the blue topaz gems of the sea raven warrior with her own deep green emeralds, guiding the curative essence of water and the healing magic of the forest through the sacred stones into her unconscious patient.

Five points of a star outlined the warrior’s body for the innermost crystal grid in his bed. A raw gem from la Grotte de l’ étoile lay at his head and each of his four limbs, channeling the celestial healing power of the stars into his critically injured body.

With a triple layer of enchantment, Issylte wielded her magic.

The three sacred elements of the Goddess—the healing herbs of the forest, the curative waters of Avalon, and the protective crystals of sacred stones.

To save the wounded sea raven warrior whose fate was inexorably entwined with her own.

Issylte held the sharp blade of her knife into the purifying flame of the candle.

She meticulously cut away the diseased flesh, removing the blackened skin to expose healthy pink skin.

The wound bled profusely, washing out the rank yellow ooze.

She staunched the bleeding with a poultice of yarrow, absorbing the toxins with a blend of calendula, turmeric, and thistle.

He stirred again, so she was able to get him to swallow more of la Fontaine de Jouvence, mixed with the blood cleansing herbs of burdock root, milk thistle, nettles, and red clover.

For several hours, Issylte sponged the wound, applying poultices to absorb the toxins, coaxing swallows of herb infused water from the sacred fountain into his cracked lips.

When the wound was finally clean, Issylte held a needle in the candle flame, soaked thread in cleansing herbs, then painstakingly stitched closed the vicious slice across his abdomen.

She smoothed raw honey over the puckered wound and covered it with clean linens, whispering spells of enchantment she’d learned from Tatie, verdant magic flowing through her healing touch.

Throughout the night, each time the warrior stirred, she helped him to swallow a few gulps of the healing waters of Avalon, laced with sacred herbs to purify his blood, wiping his hot brow with a cool cloth to reduce his fever.

As dawn began to break, she dozed in a chair beside his bed and awakened to change his dressing as the rising sun shone through the window where the fragrant white blossoms of aubépines, apple trees, and jasmine vines scented the early summer breeze.

Viviane, Nyda and Cléo brought her fresh water and clean linens, along with some oats and honey for her simple meal.

She ate quickly and returned to focus on her patient, coaxing him to drink more of the herbal water as he became semiconscious.

For three days, she stayed by his side, cleansing his wound, changing the bandages, anointing him in antiseptic ointments and poultices.

She murmured spells that she’d learned in the Hazelwood Forest, channeling the divine energy of her magic through the three-layered grid of sacred stones, summoning the healing properties of the herbs in the warrior’s body, calling upon the curative essence of the waters of Avalon to heal him.

With all her verdant magic as a forest fairy, the Emerald Princess poured her spirit as a guérisseuse celtique into healing the wounded warrior from Cornwall.

Finally, on the fourth day, when the morning sun glistened in the sparkling waters of the fountain, Tristan’s eyelids fluttered. Issylte leaned over him, his brow cool now that the fever had broken. He opened the brilliant blue eyes that she’d seen in the vision.

As she gazed into them, the earth tilted.

Her heart raced; her bearings were lost .

In the depths of his eyes, she glimpsed a fountain in a forest. The turquoise waters of the ocean.

An underground well encased by sacred stones.

She, the forest fairy, was immersed in the blue waters of the warrior’s eyes, the waves emanating from him flowing through her, cleansing her. Beckoning her.

In Tristan’s eyes, Issylte glimpsed a black bird—a sea raven—soaring over an open sea, hovering now before her.

A small dove fluttered in her breast, called forth from her soul.

White wings unfurled as she took flight, rising into the azure sky alongside the black seabird—-floating together through the diaphanous clouds scattered over the vast ocean.

In the breadth of an instant, Issylte was bound to this warrior, the Blue Knight of Cornwall, as if fate had indeed entwined them.

Through the windows of his eyes, she peered into his soul, her own blending with his, as if they were the forest and the ocean, encircled now within the three layers of protective stones, the holy trinity of sacred elements of the Goddess.

The warrior gazed into her eyes, smiled weakly and whispered, “Goddess…” before falling back into restorative sleep. Sweet relief washed over her, knowing he would recover. Issylte whispered a prayer of gratitude for the divine guidance in healing the mysterious Blue Knight of Cornwall.

When a priestess brought her next meal, Issylte sent word that Tristan was recuperating well, but that his visitors would be limited so that he could rest. Lancelot poked his head through the doorway, and she slipped out into the hall to speak with him while Tristan slept.

Viviane was at his side, as eager as her son to hear about the warrior’s miraculous recovery.

“Thank the Goddess you were able to heal him,” Lancelot choked, taking Issylte’s hands into his and showering them with kisses. “You alone knew the poison. And the antidote.” He raised his head to smile at her, his grateful eyes conveying the depth of his friendship for the Blue Knight.

Viviane nodded in earnest agreement. “You learned from Maiwenn— la Fée Verte de la Forêt . The Green Fairy of the Forest.” The Lady of the Lake turned to her son.

“The Morholt came from Ireland, where he’d obtained the poison for his sword.

We are most fortunate that Lilée, a healer trained in the Hazelwood Forest of Ireland, was with us in Avalon, to recognize that poison—and know the antidote. ”