Marion Bradley - The Mists of Avalon

She stared at them as they came closer, and whispered, "Who are you? I didn't think anyone could hear me here-I called out to the sisters, but none of them could hear me, and then the land started to move, and where it had been all solid, suddenly I was standing here in the water and the reeds were all around me and I was afraid ... . What is this place? I never saw it before, and I have been in the convent for almost a year now ... ." And she crossed herself.

Suddenly Morgaine knew what had happened. The veil had thinned, as it did occasionally in spots of such concentrated power, and somehow this girl had had enough sensitivity to be aware of it. This happened, sometimes, as a momentary vision, so that someone could see the other world as a shadow or a brief vision; but to move through into the other world was rare.

The girl took a step toward them, but under her feet the marshy surface swayed, and she stopped in panic.

"Stand still," Morgaine said gently. "The ground is a little unsafe here. I know the paths. I'll help you out, dear."

But even as she moved forward, her hand extended, Lancelet stepped in front of her, picked up the young girl, and carried her to dry land, setting her down.

"Your shoes are wet," he said, for they squelched as she moved. "Take them off and you can dry them."

She looked at him in wonder; she had stopped crying. "You're very strong. Not even my father is as strong as that. And I think I have seen you somewhere, haven't I?"

"I don't know," Lancelet said. "Who are you? Who is your father?"

"My father is King Leodegranz," she said, "but I am here at school in the convent.. .." Her voice began to shake again. "Where is it? I cannot even see the building anywhere, or the church-"

"Don't cry," Morgaine said, stepping forward, and the young girl drew back a little.

"Are you one of the fairy people? You have that blue sign on your forehead-" and she raised her hand and crossed herself again. "No," she said doubtfully, "you cannot be a demoness, you do not vanish when I cross myself, as the sisters say any demon must do-but you are little and ugly like the fairy people-"

Lancelet said firmly, "No, of course neither of us is a demon, and I think we can find the way back to your convent for you." Morgaine, her heart sinking, saw that he now looked upon the stranger as he had looked on her only minutes before, with love, desire, almost worship. As he turned back to Morgaine, saying eagerly, "We can help her, can't we?" Morgaine saw herself as she must look to Lancelet and to the strange golden maiden -small, dark, with the barbarian blue sign on her forehead, her shift muddy to the knees, her arms immodestly bare and her feet filthy, her hair coming down. Little and ugly like one of the fairy folk. Morgaine of the Fairies. So they had taunted her since childhood. She felt a surge of self-hatred, of loathing for her small, dark body, her half-naked limbs, the muddy deerskin. She snatched her damp skirt off the bush and put it on, conscious suddenly of her bare limbs; she wound the filthy deerskin tunic over it. For a moment, as Lancelet looked at her, she felt that he too must think her ugly, barbarian, alien; this exquisite golden creature belonged to his own world.

He came and gently took the stranger girl's hand, with a respectful bow. "Come, we can show you the way back."

"Yes," said Morgaine dully, "I will show you the way. Follow me, and stay close, because the ground is treacherous and you could mire yourself and not get out for a long time." For a furious moment she was tempted to lead them both into the impassable mire-she could do it, she knew the way-lead them out there and leave them to drown or wander forever in the mists.

Lancelet asked, "What is your name?"

The fair girl said, "My name is Gwenhwyfar," and she heard Lancelet murmuring, "What a lovely name, fitting to the lady who bears it." Morgaine felt a surge of hatred so great she thought that she would faint with its force. She felt it would be with her until she died, and in that molten instant she actually longed for death. All the color had gone from the day, into the mist and the mire and the dismal reeds, and all her happiness had gone with it.

"Come," she repeated in a leaden voice, "and I will show you the way.

As she turned to go she heard them laughing together behind her and wondered, through the dull surge of hatred, if they were laughing at her. She heard Gwenhwyfar's girlish voice saying, "But you don't belong to this horrible place, do you? You don't look like one of the fairy folk, you're not little and ugly."

No, she thought, no, he was beautiful, and she-little and ugly. The words burned into her heart; she forgot that she looked like Viviane, and that, to her, Viviane was beautiful. She heard Lancelet saying, "No, no, I would love to come back with you-really, I would-but I am promised to dine with a relative this night, and my mother is angry enough with me already, I don't want to make the old gentleman angry too. But no, I don't belong to Avalon ... " and, after a minute, "No, she's-well, a cousin of my mother's, or .something like that, we knew each other when we were children, that's all." And now she knew that he was speaking of her. So quickly, then, all that had been between them had been reduced to a distant family tie. Fiercely fighting back a surge of tears that made her throat ache, knowing that weeping would make her uglier than ever in their eyes, she stepped on dry land. "There lies your convent, Gwenhwyfar. Be careful to keep to the path, or you may lose yourself in the mists again."

She saw that the girl had been holding Lancelet's hand. It seemed to

Morgaine that he let it go reluctantly. The girl said, "Thank you, oh, thank you!"

"It is Morgaine you should thank," Lancelet reminded her. "It is she who knows the paths in and out of Avalon." The girl gave her a shy sidelong look. She dropped a little polite curtsey. "I thank you, mistress Morgaine."

Morgaine drew a deep breath, drawing the mantle of a priestess around her again, the glamour she could summon when she would; despite her filthy and torn clothing, her bare feet, the hair that straggled in wet locks around her shoulders, she knew that suddenly she looked tall and imposing. She made a remote gesture of blessing and turned, silent, summoning Lancelet with another gesture. She knew, even though she did not see, that the awe and fright had returned to the girl's eyes, but she moved silently away, with the noiseless gliding of a priestess of Avalon, Lancelet's steps, reluctant, following her own silent ones.

After a moment she looked back, but the mists had closed and the girl had vanished within them. Lancelet said, shaken, "How did you do that, Morgaine?"

"How did I do what?" she asked.

"Suddenly look so-so-like my mother. All tall and distant and remote and-and not quite real. Like a female demon. You frightened the poor girl, you shouldn't have done it!"

Morgaine bit her tongue with her sudden wrath. She said in a remote and enigmatic voice, "Cousin, I am what I am," and turned, hurrying up the path ahead of him. She was cold and weary and sick with an inner sickness; she longed for the solitude of the House of Maidens. Lancelet seemed a long way behind her, but she no longer cared. He could find his own way from here.

13

In the spring of the year after this, through a drenching late-winter storm, the Merlin came late one night to Avalon. When word was brought to the Lady, she stared in astonishment.

"A night such as this would drown the very frogs," she said. "What brings him out in such weather?"

"I do not know, Lady," said the young apprentice Druid who had brought the word. "He did not even send for the barge, but made his own way by the hidden paths, and said that he must see you this night before you slept. I sent him for dry clothing-his own was in such a state as you can imagine. I would have brought him food and wine as well, but he asked if he might sup with you."