P.C. Cast - Goddess of Legend

Viviane’s head came up. “That’s it! Arthur may lose everything, but if he still has his love, his Guinevere, then his heart will not be broken and his fate will change.” Excitedly, the goddess began to pace again. “That is what I must do. I must find a woman—a spectacular woman from another time, another place, and bring her here to seduce Lancelot from Guinevere so that Guinevere returns to Arthur and is balm to his wounded soul!” All would be well. Merlin would awake and, she decided, would make love to her as he’d never done before. Oh, how she already missed the lovemaking. A magician in truth Merlin was, in more ways than any of those dolts at Camelot could possible imagine.

Resolutely Viviane moved to the edge of the water, so that her bare feet were caressed by the kiss of the waves meeting the bank. She raised her arms and the mist automatically thickened, swirling magically around her as if anticipating the spell.

From the depths I call my power,

lake, sea, rain, mist, dew—hear me at this hour.

My will is to find a unique soul;

an outlander is my goal.

The goddess paused, remembering Merlin’s warning that a life cannot be displaced from its own fate. She considered ignoring her lover’s words and dealing with the consequences later. But no. The drawing spell must be perfect. She would get only one chance. Already events were spiraling out of control in Camelot—soon it would be too late to affect the future, if it wasn’t already.

No! She wouldn’t think like that. She was a goddess, and through the magic of her watery realm, she would change Arthur’s fate and save her lover.

Viviane refocused, pulling her power from the depths of the lake that spread like waved glass at her feet.

Bring me a mortal

through my divine portal.

Her fate must mean she is free,

her life thread broken so she may come to me.

The goddess closed her eyes, concentrating so hard that beads of sweat broke out over her smooth brow.

Her eyes should be able to see

her heart’s desire—love it should be.

Her mind sharp and true,

willing to see the world anew.

Encroaching darkness she’ll cure;

life and love are her allure.

It is her soul my thread will find,

with water and sight I bind.

Lake, sea, rain, mist, dew—search and discover

the mortal through which Arthur’s heart will recover!

Tossing the ball of light that had been building between her hands as she created the spell, Viviane threw her arms wide and hurled her will, her power, her divine magic out and into the lake. Instantly the waters changed color from a deep, sapphire blue to a silver so bright that had a mortal been unlucky enough to glimpse the transformation, he would have been forever blinded by its brilliance.

She must be beautiful, she must be bright.

She must instantly recognize our plight.

She must be happy, she must be smart.

And ’twould help a great deal if she’s a bit of a tart.

Now go! Do my will!

My command you must fulfill!

The glowing surface of the lake swirled around Viviane, and then tendrils of light began to lift. Fingers of radiance snaked over the water, thin and searching.

“Go!” the Goddess impatiently shouted her command, and the threads of light lifted, lifted, lifted . . . and then shot off into the morning sky to disappear from this reality to times unseen—places unknown.

Viviane stared into the sky long after her magic had dispersed. And then, with a sigh, she walked forward, letting the comforting water enfold her while she floated down to her palace made of pearl that rested deep beneath the waves. Now she must wait and hope that the drawing spell lured the perfect mortal fish into her divine net.

If only I can discover the right woman, the goddess mused as she entered her palace and impatiently brushed away the naiad hand-maidens who surrounded her, singing their desire to serve her every need. And isn’t that always the way of the world—the right woman is often the only thing that can dislodge those gods-be-damned Fates ...

ISABEL decided the morning couldn’t be more perfect. Well, possibly better if she was sore from a great night of sex, but that wasn’t in the cards. Not today, probably not tomorrow. Probably not in this decade. Nonetheless, a beautiful day.

She finished adjusting the tripod that held her favorite camera and then straightened, drawing in a deep breath of the sweet Oklahoma air. She didn’t peer through the camera lens as would most photographers. Of course she would eventually, but Isabel trusted her naked eye more than any lens, no matter how clear or magnified or uber-telephoto. So she studied the landscape before her as she sipped from her thermos of Vienna roast coffee.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the silver of her thermos. Distorted as it was, she could tell she was smiling. And her lips, which every lover seemed to comment on, looked like big clown lips. Men seemed to love them. She was always trying to suck them in. She didn’t believe for a second that Angelina’s were for real. Unfortunately, she knew too well that hers were.

“‘When the young dawn, with fingertips of rose lit up the world,’ ” she murmured, surprising herself with the Homeric quote. “Appropriate, though . . .” Isabel sighed with pleasure. The light here was absolutely exquisite! Oklahoma’s Tallgrass Prairie had been the right choice to begin her new photography collection, American Heartscapes. It was early spring, but the ridge in front of her was already covered with knee-high grasses, waving oceanlike in the morning breeze. The air had the scent of impending rain, but there were so many more scents that filled her. The grasses, the lake, the occasional odor of a skunk. Nature. What a high.

The sky was an explosion of pastels washed against a backdrop of cumulus clouds that puffed high into the stratosphere—mute testimony to today’s weather forecast of midday thunderstorms. Isabel hardly gave the impending storm a thought—she’d be gone before the first raindrop fell. But even if the weather chased her away, she didn’t mind. On the ridge before her, under the frothy cotton candy sky, was a sight Isabel knew would make the perfect cover photo for her collection. The landscape was dotted with bison. Isabel’s eyes glistened as she gazed at them, framing pictures—creating art in her mind’s eye. The huge beasts looked timeless in the changing light of dawn, especially since they were positioned so that there were no telephone poles or modern houses or even visible roads anywhere around them. It was just the beasts, the land and the amazing sky.

Isabel took another sip of her coffee before she put the cup down and began focusing her camera and setting up the first shots. As she worked, a sense of peace filled her, and Isabel’s skin tingled with happiness.

“And you thought you’d lost it,” she spoke aloud to herself softly, letting her voice fill the empty space around her. “Well, not lost it,” she muttered as she sighted through the telephoto lens and focused on a huge bison bull backlit by the rosebud-hued sky. “Just lost the peace in it.”

Ironic, really, that the collection of photographs USA Today had called Peace? had made her lose her perspective on the subject.

“Afghanistan will do that.” Isabel clicked off several frames of the bison.

In retrospect she should have known the assignment was going to be a tough one. But she’d gotten cocky. Hell, she’d been a photojournalist—a successful, award-winning photojournalist—for twenty years now. She wasn’t a dewy-eyed twenty-something anymore. She was a fearless forty-two, which was part of her problem. Overconfidence in her ability had blinded her to the realities of what really s eeing would do to her.