Free I, Morgana by Felicity Pulman Page B

over.”
    From the sheath slung at his waist, Myrddin draws a ceremonial dagger. With a swift movement he slits the animal’s throat, and raises the bloody knife to the sky.
    “Who is Riothamus? Where are we?” Arthur sounds somewhat anxious.
    “Riothamus is you, Arthur; it’s just his way of saying your name. Hush, now, there’s nothing to fear. This priest has brought new ways to Glastonbury from across the water. It seems they do things differently there.” It is almost the truth, after all.
    I touch his arm and try to distract him from Dryw the Vatis, who watches intently as the animal staggers and falls into a pool of its own blood. He makes a single thrust down its belly and its guts spill out. It is Dryw and the Vates who interpret signs and make predictions, and now they all crowd around to divine the future from the beast’s death agony and its looping entrails. Once the divination is over, the animal will be cast onto the fire to placate the Dark Ones who walk the land. And in the morning, the ashes will be raked and fortunes told from the charred bones. This is a yearly ritual, similar to what country folk used to do in our own world, so Merlin once told me, as was the life-reckoning of the stones that will come next.
    “This is the night when the dead walk,” I explain. “And this is the new way to keep ourselves safe.”
    I believe that the dead do walk, and I am sure Arthur does too, no matter that he professes to follow the Christian faith. Every year I pray to see my father Gorlois so that I can tell him the things that have come to pass since his untimely death. Perhaps this year, in this place, I shall finally meet him again.
     Arthur shivers and edges closer to the fire. Does he hope to see Uther? Surely that usurper cannot rest easy in his grave!
    I look upward, seeking the souls of the dead in the dark sky. Above my head circles the silver ribbon of fiery stars that, in Avalon, light the way to the temple of the Goddess. I close my eyes and, for comfort, I try to sense the presence of the Great Mother.
    I feel Arthur’s movement beside me, and hear the soft words of his prayer. “Keep us safe this night, oh Lord.” He steals a glance at me, and his breathing quickens. “Let me acquit myself with valor against our enemies, and let me survive to be a leader for my people, for there is so much to be gained if only I can find a way to unite us all against our common foe.”
    I wonder if his words are for his God, or designed to impress me, and I burn with hatred that his position is not mine. But I know what he says is true, for Merlin’s dire prediction at the time of Uther’s death has now come to pass. Waves of invaders have been landing on our shores and Arthur’s subjects, divided by petty arguments over land and property, look almost beaten.
    “This is not a night for worrying, my liege,” I say softly, and touch his hand, the hand that once I’d held to guide his first uncertain footsteps. Memories flood my mind and I am overwhelmed with a love so strong it almost chokes me. My resolve weakens; I am ready to abandon my cause. Until Arthur speaks again.
    “It is true that it is my destiny to lead my people to a final victory.”
    My destiny
, I rage silently.
My people, my
victory!
    But Arthur is still talking. “So my mage has promised me, and yet victory seems unattainable. I have heard that the usurpers from across the sea are waiting only for Samhain to be over, waiting for the dead to lie safe in their graves once more before they come after us again.”
    He turns to me, a frown creasing his forehead. “Please understand, lady. It is not that I’m reluctant to fight, but these skirmishes are futile. They achieve nothing but a heartbeat’s breathing space. And every time the invaders land on our shores, it seems they take more of Britain under their control.” He heaves a deep sigh. “If only I was able to call all our people together. As one fighting force we would be