Page 114 of The Faerie Morgana
Morgana said, “Nor could I, when I had the chance. But I should have.”
“She has a certain power,” Lancelin said grimly. “Forgive me for speaking of this to you, but she inspires a kind of lust I have never before experienced. It was irresistible.”
“Indeed.” The younger Morgana would not have believed lust to be irresistible under any circumstances. But she had learned otherwise in Camulod, to her private shame.
Lancelin went on, “It was as if…” He spread his hands, searching for the right words. “Priestess, it was as if she were fae. Powerful, deceitful, wicked. But Gwenvere couldn’t be fae, could she?”
It was a painful moment for Morgana. Lancelin would take comfort in knowing that his betrayal of Arthur had been engineered by the fae, but selfishly, she did not want Lancelin, of all people, to know the truth about herself. Powerful, deceitful, wicked. That was what he thought of the fae. She couldn’t bear for him to believe that about her.
She chose her words carefully. “You are right to wonder, Sir Lancelin. I have come to believe that although Gwenvere may not be fully fae, she is, in fact, a changeling.”
“A changeling?” He stared at her, his hooded eyelids lifted high.
“Yes. A creature created by the fae, trained by the fae, endowed with a certain level of dark magic.”
“But how— Arthur—”
“Indeed. My half brother was deceived, as you were, as most of Camulod was. She wielded a powerful magic, and did it well.”
“But why?”
“You are here in the Lady’s Temple. The Lady, while she walked the earth, devoted herself to Lloegyr. She turned her back on the fae and did her best to expel them from our land.They hated her for that, and it seems they have long memories. They still hate her, even though she is no longer here. The Lady had a plan for Lloegyr, and for Arthur, and Gwenvere was sent to undo it all.”
“It was revenge, then.”
“That is a good word for it.”
“I should have dropped her in the lake.”
“I should have pushed her from the courtine, but it is too late for such regrets. Now, I am afraid, we have to stop her from succeeding in her task. If we do not…”
“She will destroy us.”
“Yes. Lloegyr will fall to the Romans. It will be the end of the Lady’s plan.”
Morgana stood, gripping her sigil, and leaned against the window to gaze out onto the Isle she loved. This would require the strongest charm she had ever created. It would take every bit of energy she had, every scrap of knowledge and inspiration.
She would need all of the Nine to make it work. She would need the Blackbird, and Braithe. And she would need Sir Lancelin.
She leaned out of the window, seeking help. It came almost instantly, in the form of a tiny sparrow with a sharp yellow beak and eyes like black pebbles. The bird hovered before her face, wings a blur in the waning light. She gazed at the little creature, listening, aware of Lancelin watching in confusion.
Finally, she murmured, “Yes. Yes. Thank you, little sister,” and the sparrow tilted her wings and was gone.
When she turned from the window she found Lancelin on his feet, staring at her. “What was that?”
“That was the Lady.” She reached for her cup of cider, hardly noticing that it rose into her hand before she touched it. “Come, Sir Lancelin, we will go to dinner, and then we will sleep, all of us. We are going to need our strength. We have a great task ahead.”
It took some days to prepare for the ritual of creating the great charm. First, the Nine had to be convinced, and for this Olfreth’s deep sight was invaluable. After speaking privately with Morgana, Olfreth spent most of a night casting the stones and studying their patterns. The next morning she called all of the Nine into the inner chamber to tell them she had seen the danger to Lloegyr in the person of Arthur’s queen, and described to them what Morgana proposed to do, and how they would help her.
Morgana sent word to the Blackbird, carefully phrased so that he would understand but the messenger would not. The Blackbird had to travel from Camulod, after promising Mordred he would return as soon as he was able. He came swiftly, and met with the Nine in the Temple to lay their plans.
Braithe worked ceaselessly, gathering the herbs Morgana needed, collecting pure rainwater from jugs and pails set on the roof of the residence, pouring new candles in the workroom, finding a newly polished silver basin for Morgana to scry in.
The acolytes and servants watched all of this with curiosity at first, then growing alarm. None of the priestesses said a word to them about what was happening. No one explained why thetall, dark knight was given a bedchamber in the residence and allowed to take his meals with the Nine, when only the Blackbird had ever had that honor. Some of the acolytes whose deep sight was already developing were rightly fearful, and it didn’t help that Iffa was fractious and impatient, snapping at them to look to their work, to mind their own affairs.
Dafne made Sir Lancelin’s comfort her special charge, seeing to his bedding and his wash water and sweeping out his bedchamber. Still, every time she crossed Morgana’s path, she touched her throat and narrowed her eyes, renewing her demand to have her voice restored to her.
Morgana spent those days mostly on the shore, sitting on her favorite boulder or walking through the herb garden. Braithe often found her there, gazing out into the mist that surrounded the Isle. She was usually barefoot, her braids undone so that her hair fell around her shoulders in shards of silver, her robe unbelted so that it lifted and rippled in the breeze. And, of course, there was usually a bird, a squirrel, a dragonfly, a fox nearby.
