Page 5 of The Faerie Morgana
In the clasp of the sacred stone,
The blood of the true king knows its own,
And the hand of destiny falls upon the One.
Now she understood. She sighed, and behind her, the other acolytes did the same. For those who were sensitive enough to perceive it, a shimmer of magic brightened the air in the Temple. Braithe drew a sharp breath as she felt the bones in her hands and arms tingle in response. Morgana’s forehead smoothed, and her eyelids fluttered open to show her eyes glowing gold.Slowly, deliberately, she lowered her hand. She flexed the fingers as if they ached, then let her hand hang still beside her.
The Blackbird said, “Well done, my lord.”
Braithe had to stop herself from protesting that it was Morgana who had released the great sword, not this nameless boy!
The boy held Morgana’s golden gaze with his sky-blue one for a long, suspended moment before he inclined his head to her in a gesture of recognition. And of thanks.
“Sister,” he said, in the high voice of a lad not yet having reached adolescence.
“Brother,” Morgana replied, in her deep, ringing tone. And she added, “My king.”
3
Two years passed after the drawing of the sword before anything changed on the Isle. The work went on. The acolytes studied. The supplicants arrived to make their requests in the anteroom. The priestesses did their best to fulfill them. Then, in Morgana’s eighteenth year, Nola, not the eldest of the Nine, but the most frail, went to sleep one summer night and didn’t wake again.
The remaining eight priestesses gathered in the inner chamber of the priestesses’ residence to choose her replacement. The Blackbird hastened up from the garden and through the sanctuary to join them. As he hurried through the courtyard, Morgana fell into step beside him. “They have already convened?”
“They are just beginning.”
“The choice is obvious, sir, is it not?”
He didn’t slow his pace, but there was no need. He never walked quickly. “We will consult the omens, Morgana, as we always do.”
“The new moon is tonight. The perfect time for me to begin my priestesshood.”
He cast her a sidelong glance but kept walking in his stiff way. “The phase of the moon is not the only criterion. You know that.”
“I am already more powerful than any of the surviving eight, sir.”
At that, the Blackbird stopped and turned, pushing his hat back so he could look into her face. “I will not argue that with you, Morgana, although I have warned you about excessive pride. But there is a proper way to do these things.”
“Why waste time on a decision that is already clear?” Morgana’s shoulders twitched with impatience. “We have a list of supplicants who need our help. They come to the Isle every day, begging for remedies.”
“And you fulfill their requests, do you not?”
“I do, or I help the acolytes to do it. Which means I should be one of the Nine.”
The Blackbird’s gray beard twitched. “Like every other candidate, child, you must wait to be invited.”
“I’m no longer a child.”
“That is a matter of perspective, Morgana. Why not enjoy your girlhood while you can? Keep your heart light, your steps free. You will have a very long time to be an adult.”
“My heart has not been light since the day you took me from my lady mother. That was the end of my childhood, as I think you know.”
He paused for a long moment, twiddling his beard with his free hand and gazing thoughtfully at her with eyes that were heavy with something she couldn’t name. “That couldn’t behelped, Morgana,” he said slowly, as if the words pained him. “There were reasons.”
“What reasons?” she demanded.
The moment felt huge to her, as if he were on the edge of saying something important, something real, something she should hear. When he spoke no more but pressed his lips shut, she nearly stamped her foot in frustration. Instead, she lifted her chin, forcing him to look up to see her eyes.
“Nothing I can tell you now,” he said, although without much conviction.
