Free The Lady of the Sea by Rosalind Miles Page A
Authors: Rosalind Miles
and keep faith.”
“But will he keep faith with me?”
“He will never be false to you.”
Goddess, Mother . . .
Isolde felt her heart dancing in her breast.
So he will return. And I shall bear his child!
Then a glance at the Queen’s expression cut her off sharply. “What is it?” she breathed.
“Alas, Isolde, the trials you fear today are nothing to what lies ahead. The Christians, our dearest enemies, are out in force. They hate the Mother and all that we hold dear. And now they are prowling our land as the sea howls round the shore.”
“They’re building their churches everywhere,” Isolde agreed harshly, “and advancing their power in every village and town.”
“And King Mark has been helping them.”
Isolde could not hold back her bitterness. “Because they attack the Mother-right and seek to impose the rule of men.”
“They have a doughty champion in Cornwall here,” Igraine resumed. “An old enemy of yours.”
“Father Dominian?”
“Beware of him, Isolde. He has sworn to bring you down.”
Isolde nodded bleakly. “I know.”
The old Queen folded her hands and brought them to her lips. “But that is not the worst. Their heaviest onslaught is on Avalon. Under them, the Sacred Island will be no more.”
Avalon . . .
Sacred Island . . .
Home . . .
Through a mist of tears, Isolde saw again the great green island rising from the sacred lake, alive with apple blossom and the song of birds. After Dubh Lein, it had been her girlhood home, when her mother sent her to study with the Lady of the Lake. There she had learned the wisdom of the Goddess and the cornerstone of her belief.
Faith should be kindness. Religion should be love.
“And Avalon will be no more?”
She could feel the fatal tears rising again.
I will not surrender now.
“Tell me, madam,” she said thickly. “What must we do?”
“We must each become the Mother in our own lives,” Igraine said intently. “Every woman her own Goddess, her own Lady whether of lake, land, or sea. But you, Isolde, are Queen of your own isle. The Mother-right is with you, and your first duty is to the spirit of the land. You will be torn many ways, but you must not lose faith. And in time, who knows? Your future may call you beyond the Western Isle.”
Beyond the Western Isle? No, that was too far to look. Enough to know that the future was with her now.
“Oh, my lady . . .”
Newborn dreams trembled before Isolde’s eyes. Filled with fresh hope, she began to stammer out her gratitude.
The old Queen smiled her wise and ancient smile. “No more words. A ship lies waiting for you at the foot of the rock. Go to Ireland with my blessing and do what must be done. A hard road lies ahead, and the days will be long before you come safely home. But you may not leave the path you are fated to tread.”
So be it.
Isolde squared her shoulders and raised her eyes. Through the rocky arch gleamed the far horizon, veiled by the breaking waves. Then the mists parted, and she caught a tender, fleeting flash of golden light.
She bowed to Queen Igraine. “To Ireland, then.”
Wait for me, I am coming.
Her heart took wing, flying with the seagulls toward the faraway emerald shore.
Ireland.
Erin.
Home.
chapter 8
H e had sworn to remember her every dawn and evening, and so he did. Whenever the morning star faded or the love star lit the sky, he gave all his thoughts and all his prayers to Isolde. When he halted in his journey through the forest and fell to his knees, he always meant to send love and joy winging her way. But all too often, Tristan found himself locked in grief.
Isolde, my lady . . .
My lost lady.
Lost and gone, never to return.
Never before had he left Isolde without any idea of when he would return. The emptiness within him was more than he could bear, and the gnawing sense of loss grew greater every day. Without you I am only half myself. Less than half. You have taken the best part of me away. That’s you, my better
“But will he keep faith with me?”
“He will never be false to you.”
Goddess, Mother . . .
Isolde felt her heart dancing in her breast.
So he will return. And I shall bear his child!
Then a glance at the Queen’s expression cut her off sharply. “What is it?” she breathed.
“Alas, Isolde, the trials you fear today are nothing to what lies ahead. The Christians, our dearest enemies, are out in force. They hate the Mother and all that we hold dear. And now they are prowling our land as the sea howls round the shore.”
“They’re building their churches everywhere,” Isolde agreed harshly, “and advancing their power in every village and town.”
“And King Mark has been helping them.”
Isolde could not hold back her bitterness. “Because they attack the Mother-right and seek to impose the rule of men.”
“They have a doughty champion in Cornwall here,” Igraine resumed. “An old enemy of yours.”
“Father Dominian?”
“Beware of him, Isolde. He has sworn to bring you down.”
Isolde nodded bleakly. “I know.”
The old Queen folded her hands and brought them to her lips. “But that is not the worst. Their heaviest onslaught is on Avalon. Under them, the Sacred Island will be no more.”
Avalon . . .
Sacred Island . . .
Home . . .
Through a mist of tears, Isolde saw again the great green island rising from the sacred lake, alive with apple blossom and the song of birds. After Dubh Lein, it had been her girlhood home, when her mother sent her to study with the Lady of the Lake. There she had learned the wisdom of the Goddess and the cornerstone of her belief.
Faith should be kindness. Religion should be love.
“And Avalon will be no more?”
She could feel the fatal tears rising again.
I will not surrender now.
“Tell me, madam,” she said thickly. “What must we do?”
“We must each become the Mother in our own lives,” Igraine said intently. “Every woman her own Goddess, her own Lady whether of lake, land, or sea. But you, Isolde, are Queen of your own isle. The Mother-right is with you, and your first duty is to the spirit of the land. You will be torn many ways, but you must not lose faith. And in time, who knows? Your future may call you beyond the Western Isle.”
Beyond the Western Isle? No, that was too far to look. Enough to know that the future was with her now.
“Oh, my lady . . .”
Newborn dreams trembled before Isolde’s eyes. Filled with fresh hope, she began to stammer out her gratitude.
The old Queen smiled her wise and ancient smile. “No more words. A ship lies waiting for you at the foot of the rock. Go to Ireland with my blessing and do what must be done. A hard road lies ahead, and the days will be long before you come safely home. But you may not leave the path you are fated to tread.”
So be it.
Isolde squared her shoulders and raised her eyes. Through the rocky arch gleamed the far horizon, veiled by the breaking waves. Then the mists parted, and she caught a tender, fleeting flash of golden light.
She bowed to Queen Igraine. “To Ireland, then.”
Wait for me, I am coming.
Her heart took wing, flying with the seagulls toward the faraway emerald shore.
Ireland.
Erin.
Home.
chapter 8
H e had sworn to remember her every dawn and evening, and so he did. Whenever the morning star faded or the love star lit the sky, he gave all his thoughts and all his prayers to Isolde. When he halted in his journey through the forest and fell to his knees, he always meant to send love and joy winging her way. But all too often, Tristan found himself locked in grief.
Isolde, my lady . . .
My lost lady.
Lost and gone, never to return.
Never before had he left Isolde without any idea of when he would return. The emptiness within him was more than he could bear, and the gnawing sense of loss grew greater every day. Without you I am only half myself. Less than half. You have taken the best part of me away. That’s you, my better