Read Online Lady of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley, Diana L. Paxson - Free Book Online Page A

themselves, who speak for all in nature that has no voice of its own. But surely God created them. And just as men who go to dwell in Faerie never die, those of the Elder kin who cast their lot with men become mortal, and if they live well, the Almighty will grant them a soul. As for her daughter, she is only a child. And if she is partly of mortal race, then surely she has a soul already. Can children be evil? The Master said that of such was the kingdom of heaven.”
    Father Joseph looked at Gawen and smiled. “You have listened to us singing often, have you not? Would you like to hear us from inside?”
    Gawen eyed him suspiciously. His heart drew him to the old man, but he was tired of adults telling him who he was and what he should do.
    “You do not have to,” Father Joseph added, “but it does sound better that way…” He had spoken gravely, but the boy saw the gleam in his eye and began to laugh. “After the festival of Midwinter, when there will be more leisure, you could even, if you desired it, learn to sing…”
    Gawen grew abruptly still. “How did you know? How did you know that I would like that above all other things? But will Caillean give me leave?”
    Father Joseph only smiled. “Leave Caillean to me.”
    The big meeting hall was fragrant with the spicy scent of pine boughs. The Druids had gone out to cut them from the trees that grew on the next hill along the ley line that led from Avalon. The line passed through the Tor from the northeast, extending all the way to the farthest point, where Britannia jutted out into the western seas. Other lines of power came through the Tor from the northwest and the north, marked by standing stones or pools or hills, most of them crowned by pine. Caillean had not explored them in the flesh, but she had seen them while traveling in the spirit. It seemed to her that all of them were pulsing with power today.
    According to Druid calculations, this night was the time of the year’s greatest darkness. Tomorrow the sun would begin its return from southern skies, and though the worst of winter was still before them, one might dare to hope that summer would come again. What we do here at this node of power, thought Caillean as she directed Lysanda to fasten the end of a garland to a post, will send echoes of energy throughout the land.
    And that was true of all their actions, not just tonight’s ritual. It was coming to her more and more strongly that this refuge in the marshes was the secret center of Britannia. The Romans might rule its head in Londinium, directing all that happened on the outer plane. But just by being here, the priestesses of Avalon could speak to its soul.
    There was a squeal from the other end of the hall, and Dica, red-faced, turned on Gawen and began to swipe at him with a branch of pine. Eiluned, frowning like a thundercloud, bustled toward them, but Caillean was before her.
    “I didn’t touch you!” exclaimed the boy, dodging behind Caillean. From the corner of her eye the priestess saw Lysanda edging away and grabbed her.
    “The first duty of a priestess is to be truthful,” said Caillean sternly. “If we tell truth here, there will be truth in the land.” The girl looked from her to Gawen and blushed.
    “She moved…,” Lysanda muttered. “I meant to poke him. ”
    Caillean knew better than to ask why. At that age, boys and girls were like cats and dogs, two kinds of creatures, alternately hostile and fascinated by their differences.
    “You are not here to play, you know,” she said mildly. “Did you think we were putting up these branches just for the sweet smell? They are holy, a pledge of continuing life when all other branches are bare.”
    “Like the holly?” asked Dica, her indignation replaced by curiosity.
    “And the mistletoe, born of the lightning, which lives without touching earth at all. Tomorrow the Druids will cut it with golden sickles to use in their magic.” Caillean paused, looking around her. “We are