Read Online Isolde: Queen of the Western Isle by Rosalind Miles - Free Book Online
Authors: Rosalind Miles
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race began. All our people once came out of the sea, and beneath its surging main lie the lands of youth."
"You are the Mother." A strange delight pierced him, bringing a warmth and sweetness he had never known.
"I serve the Mother," the Lady corrected gently. "But the Great One Herself is above us all. It was She who girded our world with the sea, and the great ocean is the circle of life itself. You entered the circle when She brought you here. She wishes you to go to Castle Dore."
Tristan tensed. "The castle of my uncle King Mark?"
The Lady nodded. "And your cousin Andred, your mother's brother's son. You have not seen King Mark for many years, but he has never forgotten his sister's son. If you choose, you may do him a dear service now.
He is under a challenge he cannot win, while your deeds of arms are known far and wide."
"So I may take this battle on—defeat his opponent and restore peace to the King?" Tristan's eyes glowed like moons, and he felt an animal power surging through his veins. "Lady, thank you," he said abruptly. "When I went away from Lyonesse, I never meant to lose my only kin. I must go to King Mark now!"
"Then go with this."
The Lady gestured toward the stream flowing around her feet. Tristan saw a long shining shape borne along on the torrent, a great sword in a scabbard of gold, richly engraved and emblazoned with the signs of power.
The deep autumnal tones rang around the cave. "Take it, Tristan. It was sent for you."
He plunged into the stream. He did not feel the shock of the ice-cold water, only the strange warmth as the scabbard came to his grasp. Seizing it with both hands, he hauled himself back onto the rocks and, trembling with joy, drew the sword from its sheath.
In his hand lay a weapon such as warriors only dream of. It was a massive broadsword, worked to perfection by Otherworldly hands, with a deadly sheen and an edge keening for blood. The hilt was set with all the stones of the sea, cabochons as pale as pearls and jasper and agate gleaming like salmons' eyes. A skein of crooked marks ran down the blade.
My name is Glaeve
, he saw written in runic script.
She who was and will be sent me to you
.
"Glaeve!" he murmured, entranced. Reverently he passed it through the air, and could hear the sword humming in a high, etherial tone. He brought the blade to his lips in a cold kiss. "Welcome, brother. You are mine till death."
The Lady's voice now was like the roaring of the sea. "The Goddess has sent you a sign. Take it, and do good."
"Lady, I shall!" Tristan cried. "Give me your blessing and I'll be gone!"
His pulse was racing, and he was on fire to leave. But a deep sigh drew him back.
"Hear me, Tristan. Ahead for you now lie the two great trials of a man, the fear of loss in battle, and the death of the heart. You must fight a great champion, and only one of you will see the sun rise again. You will find a great love that leaves you dead to all else, and will have to face every day love's killing hurts."
She paused, and he felt her spirit grow till all the cavern resounded with her words. "To face a man in combat is challenge enough. To find the Goddess in a woman is the life work of a man. Hard though the first may be, the second is the harder, longer road. But every man seeks the woman of the dream, and only the best of men finds what he seeks."
Tristan drew a deep breath. "I shall not fail," he said.
There was a sigh like the moaning of the sea. "Ah, Tristan, only the Mother never fails. All of us leave this world on the evening tide. Then we come again when the tide is full and free."
Tristan's heart quailed. "Lady," he cried in anguish, "how shall I be worthy of the task?"
"Do not fear." Her voice was blending now with the surge of the sea, and the lights in the cavern were dimming with every word. "You will come to the place of terror and find miracles."
"Lady!" He tried to speak and could not. The thought of leaving filled him with nameless pain. Would he ever
"You are the Mother." A strange delight pierced him, bringing a warmth and sweetness he had never known.
"I serve the Mother," the Lady corrected gently. "But the Great One Herself is above us all. It was She who girded our world with the sea, and the great ocean is the circle of life itself. You entered the circle when She brought you here. She wishes you to go to Castle Dore."
Tristan tensed. "The castle of my uncle King Mark?"
The Lady nodded. "And your cousin Andred, your mother's brother's son. You have not seen King Mark for many years, but he has never forgotten his sister's son. If you choose, you may do him a dear service now.
He is under a challenge he cannot win, while your deeds of arms are known far and wide."
"So I may take this battle on—defeat his opponent and restore peace to the King?" Tristan's eyes glowed like moons, and he felt an animal power surging through his veins. "Lady, thank you," he said abruptly. "When I went away from Lyonesse, I never meant to lose my only kin. I must go to King Mark now!"
"Then go with this."
The Lady gestured toward the stream flowing around her feet. Tristan saw a long shining shape borne along on the torrent, a great sword in a scabbard of gold, richly engraved and emblazoned with the signs of power.
The deep autumnal tones rang around the cave. "Take it, Tristan. It was sent for you."
He plunged into the stream. He did not feel the shock of the ice-cold water, only the strange warmth as the scabbard came to his grasp. Seizing it with both hands, he hauled himself back onto the rocks and, trembling with joy, drew the sword from its sheath.
In his hand lay a weapon such as warriors only dream of. It was a massive broadsword, worked to perfection by Otherworldly hands, with a deadly sheen and an edge keening for blood. The hilt was set with all the stones of the sea, cabochons as pale as pearls and jasper and agate gleaming like salmons' eyes. A skein of crooked marks ran down the blade.
My name is Glaeve
, he saw written in runic script.
She who was and will be sent me to you
.
"Glaeve!" he murmured, entranced. Reverently he passed it through the air, and could hear the sword humming in a high, etherial tone. He brought the blade to his lips in a cold kiss. "Welcome, brother. You are mine till death."
The Lady's voice now was like the roaring of the sea. "The Goddess has sent you a sign. Take it, and do good."
"Lady, I shall!" Tristan cried. "Give me your blessing and I'll be gone!"
His pulse was racing, and he was on fire to leave. But a deep sigh drew him back.
"Hear me, Tristan. Ahead for you now lie the two great trials of a man, the fear of loss in battle, and the death of the heart. You must fight a great champion, and only one of you will see the sun rise again. You will find a great love that leaves you dead to all else, and will have to face every day love's killing hurts."
She paused, and he felt her spirit grow till all the cavern resounded with her words. "To face a man in combat is challenge enough. To find the Goddess in a woman is the life work of a man. Hard though the first may be, the second is the harder, longer road. But every man seeks the woman of the dream, and only the best of men finds what he seeks."
Tristan drew a deep breath. "I shall not fail," he said.
There was a sigh like the moaning of the sea. "Ah, Tristan, only the Mother never fails. All of us leave this world on the evening tide. Then we come again when the tide is full and free."
Tristan's heart quailed. "Lady," he cried in anguish, "how shall I be worthy of the task?"
"Do not fear." Her voice was blending now with the surge of the sea, and the lights in the cavern were dimming with every word. "You will come to the place of terror and find miracles."
"Lady!" He tried to speak and could not. The thought of leaving filled him with nameless pain. Would he ever
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