Free The Forest House by Marion Zimmer Bradley Page A

enough to justify what I have seen you suffer all these years.” Especially, she thought, since the honor of it was empty so long as Lhiannon did not choose to exercise her power.
    Lhiannon made a movement of discomfort, and Caillean realized that she was treading too near forbidden ground. She had been closer to the older woman than a daughter since before her moonblood began to flow, and that was more than twenty years ago, so she knew how Lhiannon depended on the illusions that cushioned her reality.
    Another woman might have asked Caillean what she wanted instead. Caillean’s lips twisted wryly as she cleared away the half-eaten porridge for, indeed, she herself did not know. But her heart told her that there must be more to serving the Goddess than these formal rituals with their tantalizing hints of power.
    The secret teachings of the Druids included tales of a time long ago when priests from a lost land now sunk beneath the sea had come to Britannia. They had been masters of magic, and as they married into the ruling lines of the people they found here and later into the families of each new group of conquerors, the old blood, and the old knowledge had been preserved. But those most learned in that lore had died on Mona, and their knowledge with them.
    Sometimes it seemed to Caillean that what they retained at the Forest House was only the dregs of greatness. Most of the other women were content with their small magic, but from time to time Caillean would feel an odd conviction that there must be more. She had spoken truth to Lhiannon—she did not want to be Priestess of the Oracle. And yet if not that, what was it that she wanted to do?
    "It is time for our morning devotions,” Lhiannon’s voice pierced her distraction. The older woman gripped the table and pushed herself upright.
    And Goddess forbid that we should fail to perform even the slightest step in the ritual! thought Caillean as she helped the High Priestess to move out to the garden and settle herself before the plain stone altar there. But as Caillean lit the lamp set on its top and brought the flowers to lay before it, she found a measure of peace returning to her soul.
    "Behold, Thou art come with the dawning adorned with flowers,” Lhiannon said softly, lifting her hands in salutation.
    "Thy radiance blazes in the strengthening sun and in the holy fire,” Caillean replied.
    "In the east arising, Thou art come to bring new life to the world.” The voice of the High Priestess seemed to grow younger, purer, and Caillean knew that if she looked, she would have seen the lines of age fading from Lhiannon’s face, until the beauty of the Maiden Goddess shone from her eyes.
    But by then, the same power was filling her own heart.
    "The flowers spring up in Thy footsteps; the earth grows green where Thou dost pass…” As she had so many times before, she allowed the rhythm of the rite to carry her to a place where there was only the Lady’s harmony.
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    On the morning of the Beltane festival, Eilan woke before dawn in the women’s house where she slept with her sisters. Eilan’s bed, a wooden frame strung with rawhide and covered with skins and fine woolen blankets, was built up against the sloping thatched roof, so close that she could reach up and touch it. Over the years she had widened a crack in the mud plastering to a chink through which she could peer. Outside, the light of an early summer dawn was just beginning to break.
    With a sigh she lay back again, trying to remember her dreams. There had been something about the festival, and then the scene had changed. There had been an eagle there, she knew, and she had been a swan, and then, it seemed to her, the eagle had become a swan as well, and they had both flown away.
    Little Senara still slumbered; she slept closest to the wall for she was still small enough to fall out of bed. Her sharp bent knees poked into Eilan’s side. Across the room