The solstice bride, p.21
The Solstice Bride, page 21
part #2 of Heirs to Camelot Series
“We’ve been attacked. I will not have it. Burn down the Sisterhood and the country that has harbored them for centuries!” Morgaine snarled.
“As you will, Ma’am,” the assistant said in a hushed voice.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Midsummer Eve
Falke
Falke realized his dream was something more by the intensity of sensory information. There was the heavy scent of farm animals from the barnyard behind him; he heard the geese squabbling on the pond; he could clearly feel the rocky ground beneath the thin leather of his boots.
He looked up into the clear blue sky. There were no jet contrails; he heard no faint rumble of cars or machinery, no hum of mowers. It was utterly quiet in a way the modern world was not.
It was too real to be a dream. Was this some sort of deep memory of a past life?
He felt hair tickling his neck in an unfamiliar way and reached up to stop the sensation. That’s when he noticed his hand was broader than it was in his normal Here/Now, and the back of it was covered in a fine down of red hair over very pale and freckled shin. His body felt shorter, stockier than the one he normally inhabited.
There was a young girl of about nine years beside him, head down. She stomped as she walked, as if she were mashing whatever had upset her. Golden brown hair shielded her face. He wanted very badly to sweep back the lovely locks. He yearned to hold her in his arms, this girl he loved desperately. “Arianrhod, please say something,” he heard himself say.
“Mother didn’t have to be so blunt. She could have trusted that I understood well the barriers to our being together,” the girl said.
All at once, he recalled what had just happened previous to that moment: Their mother, Anya, had taken them to the livestock pen where she showed them a newborn goat with no back legs. The kid had been the product of in-breeding—a brother and sister pair had conceived the damaged animal. Both Arianrhod and he had known their mother was showing them the risks of consummating their love—even though they had not lain together.
“Perhaps you knew the risks. I did not know that any child made by us would be … damaged.” His very soul felt sore.
She stopped and turned her tear-filled green eyes upon him. His heart melted at that look of sorrow and love. “Falcon, I know our duties. I could brew a potion that would prevent any pregnancy—but then I would never bear children, and I’d ruin the Goddess’ plan.”
He felt a stab of terrible anguish at her words—as always, so much wiser than her years.
She continued, “You must marry a stranger and have a child that begins the great chain of heirs to reach The Time Foretold. I must mate and bear an heir of my own. It cannot be your child. But I want only you. I have known since the first moment I saw you that you were my heart’s mate.”
He took her small hands into his. “Arianrhod, I pledge to you my undying love for all time.”
She shut her eyes with a look of pain. A single tear slipped down her fair cheek. “I will pray to the Goddess we are reunited in the next life, where we can be together, my own love.”
Falke was squashed into a seat with Ravenna in the small bus, as many of the Rescued had elected to ride with them. Since Tami had passed, he had been adopted as the leader—something he was not happy about.
That was not my purpose, yet here I must take the lead.
The rest of the resistance and Witnesses were in the old city bus following close behind. The lights of both vehicles were off on the narrow road through the twilight-darkened fields. The bus was filled with fear and jitters. Each person’s thoughts crowded in on Falke. Ravenna was trembling. She told him earlier that ever since the meeting with the Goddess, her empathy had been amped up.
“Amped up.” She has such a funny way with words.
Falke resettled himself uncomfortably against his backpack. The rain slicker he’d borrowed after this evening’s rains was a little too small for him and cramped his back. He’d felt prompted to take his meager possessions with him to this confrontation. It was clear they would not be going back to the compound. He just wasn’t sure if that meant they were going to die, or what would happen next.
I need to reclaim my calm center before we face … whatever is to come.
He reached out and took Ravenna’s hand. The sleeve of the too-big windbreaker she was wearing covered their intertwined fingers. Falke closed his eyes and started the silent meditation chants, hoping Ravenna would join him.
Soon, he felt her breathing become regular. She relaxed next to him. The rumble of the bus and the buzz of nervous conversation around them dropped away. Falke felt them floating together in some sort of place with no time or existence—just peacefulness.
That’s why it was so startling when a familiar voice interrupted: “Falke, can you hear me?”
“Leader Kweetoo?” Falke was surprised the mental link had been achieved without his having turned the device in his skull on. He was also aware from the way she startled, that Ravenna could hear the conversation. “What is it? Are you all right?”
“Our Seers are telling us the Viborg Motherhouse may be destroyed shortly.”
Falke’s eyes flew wide open. Ravenna’s eyes were wide with shock. “What?” he replied mentally. If that’s true, you must evacuate!”
“We have sent the more vulnerable priestesses and priests and all of the treasures of the Sisterhood—data and artifacts—to other Motherhouses around the world,” Leader Kweetoo said.
“Why are you still there?” Falke exclaimed.
“Because running away creates more problems than it solves,” the leader of the Sisterhood replied with more calm than Falke could quite comprehend.
“But wouldn’t people be impressed that the Sisterhood can’t be snuck up on? That they are powerful enough to see a threat and avoid it?” Ravenna asked.
“We had thought of that, High Priestess,” Leader Kweetoo said. “But then millions will die in Denmark and Scandinavia while we are off and safe. There’s no way we could warn the people and evacuate them safely in time.”
“Ah, I see.” Ravenna’s shoulders slumped in defeat.
“Instead of looking clever for saving yourselves, you’d look self-serving and cruel to have abandoned the surrounding populace to their fate,” Falke concluded.
“Exactly,” Leader Kweetoo said. “And there’s this—if you two are successful with your task, this timeline will disappear, and nothing that happened will have mattered. If you fail, then we will not be able to change the path of humanity anyway.”
Falke sucked in a breath. “Do not place this all on us!”
“It is unavoidable at this juncture, Falke,” Leader Kweetoo said. “We will pray for both you and Ravenna, and the successful completion of your mission. Blessed—”
A shrieking noise tore through Falke’s mind. He clapped his hands to his head, even though the sound was coming from inside his skull. He noticed Ravenna’s look of pain, as she obviously heard it too.
The bus was filled with screaming, as each of the adepts felt the deaths of the Sisterhood and the eastern half of Denmark vaporize in a nuclear fireball. The bus stopped abruptly, and even Bogart the driver had to cradle his head.
“What is it? What happened?” Andi demanded, when the pain had subsided a little.
“The Sisterhood has been destroyed. Probably a nuclear device,” Falke explained.
“Dear Goddess, who would do such a thing?” Elliott asked.
“The queen,” Ravenna said in a flat voice.
“Bloody bitch!” shouted Gwylim. “Now we have to take ‘er down for good and all!”
“Damn right!” and “Let’s get her!” echoed throughout the bus. Bogart started the vehicle back up, and they raced toward Winchester.
“What remains of the Sisterhood is going to war,” Ravenna observed.
Falke shook his head. “The Sisterhood does not condone violence. I can’t lead these people on an attack. We cannot cure one wrong with another.”
Andi grabbed his shoulder. “Look, it’s all very well to be non-violent and try to achieve what you can that way. But sometimes, battle is called for.”
“I don’t know,” he said.
Andi shook him gently. “What’s that saying? ‘To everything there is a season?’ This is the season for war. We must defeat the queen, Prince Robert, and their forces, or the world goes up in flames. Hear me, Priest. It isn’t against your vows to physically defend the world.”
For the first time, Falke really saw Andi as she was. Yes, there was her fierceness—and all the piercings, wild hair, and tattoos that telegraphed that. But there was also the person who had fought the world to be authentic; a person with infinite bravery and infinite pain. Mixed into that was the strength of an ancient priestess persona Falke could now feel. He recalled a Pict shaman who had aided Mother Anya. Mamaidh, he thought her name had been. Yes, that was Andi’s core. A deeply wise mystic, hidden behind a facade of sarcasm and anger.
Ravenna watched the exchange with sadness in her eyes, but she didn’t intervene. He realized she’d known all along what they were going to do.
“I understand. Thank you for your council.” He took a breath. “The Sisterhood goes to battle, then.”
The brave war-talk of the others stilled at the sound of his voice—which had taken on the priest’s volume. He realized he’d made this a holy cause by his words.
The bus stopped in a field.
The three-quarter moon hadn’t risen yet, so it was full dark. The evening star was just over the horizon. As he stepped off the transport, the most bizarre and unexpected sight met his eyes: a giant open-air football stadium in the middle of hay fields. The pillars of the place were shaped like Stonehenge, but much, much larger. “How in the world did they hide that?” he demanded of no one in particular.
“QUEEN AVA! QUEEN AVA!” came the chants of thousands of people inside, chanting in unison for the queen.
The resistance had arrived near the back of the place, where there was a stage or dais. Large megaliths were arranged in a circle lit in colored lights that spun and whirled. Smoke hovered over the circle from a green-wood bonfire. A breeze wafted through, and on it were the scents of rancid meat and a toxic incense that made him nauseous.
“Should we put on our camo masks?” Ravenna asked.
“They know who we are, at this point,” Andi said.
The others from the bus gathered around them. “What are we supposed to do now?” Bogart asked.
Falke said, “We go to the stage and wait for our time.”
“Which is when, mate?” Gwylim asked.
“I think it will be pretty clear,” he said.
“Fucking Mister Cryptic,” muttered Rónàn.
Cautiously, they approached the back of the stadium. There were chants for the queen and Adramelech. Then it switched to something he couldn’t quite make out. “What are they saying?” Falke whispered.
“Eat the world,” Elliot said with a shudder.
There were three large men in black pants and T-shirts standing at the back entrance, obviously guarding the place. Falke ran at them, and all of the resistance started running with him.
“This isn’t a good plan!” Ravenna shouted.
“It’s all I’ve got!” he shouted back.
The guards pointed their guns at them, but the resistance adepts exerted their collective power, and the guns turned bright red-white. The men screamed, then collapsed.
No one in the stadium heard what had happened for the roar of the crowd. Falke indicated that the guards should be dragged off to behind the dumpsters and then waited until it was done. Then, he gestured for the others to follow him in.
Stepping through the doorway was like entering a tunnel filled with viscous, foul-smelling liquid. It was a struggle to put one foot after another. After trying for a while, everyone stopped.
Will suppression! Falke sent to others in Mindspeech. Fight it. Focus on me!
He concentrated so hard at sharing his power that he gave himself a pinching headache between the eyes. Abruptly, the sensation of being in a sticky tunnel vanished. But there was still a brooding presence, a feeling that there was someone who was searching for, but not quite locating them.
Falke motioned the others forward, and they walked cautiously through the hallway. The noise grew louder and felt like a wall ahead. They emerged just to the left side of the stage. It was a re-creation of the sacred circle in London, with a large stone altar. In front of that was a bonfire with jet-black-tinged flames. Naked men and woman danced and chanted around it, their eyes glassy and deep red. All of them wore necklaces much like the queen’s—the Flame of the Secret Fire.
They must be the queen’s priests.
“That’s the Prime Minister,” whispered Elliot.
“Isn’t that the Foreign Minister behind her?” someone else asked.
“There’s the Home Secretary!” said another.
Ravenna gasped. “That’s the headmistress of our Temple!”
“Morgaine controls all the fucking powerful adepts of Britain,” Andi said.
“I’ll bet those others are high officials in other countries,” Falke said.
The people watching were also naked but didn’t wear necklaces—the prisoner-adepts of Ware; the ones the Falke and the others hadn’t freed. Falke looked at the Rescued near him. They were alike, but the Rescued now recalled who they were. The people in the audience had their minds wiped out. Because of the drugs and torture, they only thought of, and served, the queen. They were merely animated puppets.
“They must have bussed the lot of them out here,” Elliot observed.
Just then, the queen strode onto the stage from the opposite entry. She wore not a stitch, save for a gold miter and the large fire pendant. She looked so young. Could she really be in her late forties? Her red hair fairly glowed and somehow, the white stripe through her tresses looked like a flame.
She stepped to the edge of the stage, and her drones erupted with thunderous cheers. The priests behind her bowed low.
“My subjects!” They roared in response, then quieted to nothing at a wave of her hand. “Tonight is the night foretold! We shall rise up and take the world for our own.” More cheers. “You—my special creations—shall enforce the New Order. None shall oppose us. All shall bow down to us!” The cheers became thunderous. “Let the rite commence!”
Strange music blared over the sound system. It sounded like bagpipes warring with badgers.
“I think that might be ancient British music,” Bastiaan said.
“Makes me wanna punch somebody,” Gwylim grumbled.
Unlike the formal Black Mass Robert led, the ritual the queen’s priests enacted looked primitive. Falke supposed it must be the exact way it was performed back when the queen was Avalon’s High Priestess Morgaine. They rattled bones. Spewed liquid at the crowd. Fire erupted here and there. The words the queen chanted made no sense.
“That’s a language even older than Brittonic,” Elliot said, as if picking up Falke thoughts.
“What is she saying?” he asked.
“Nothing good,” Andi snapped.
Two of the priests went to the edge of the stage and collected bowls being held up by drones. The Prime Minister poured a small amount of a viscous substance into a vessel. The Temple Priestess took it to the queen, who tipped it back and drank it. Some spilled on her—a river of blood coursed down her chin, dribbled between her breasts, and ran down her torso.
Gwylim gagged.
The queen passed the bowl to one of the other priests and received the next offering.
“The drones are somehow giving her their blood,” Falke says. “And look what it’s doing to her!”
The others gasped. The queen had grown to almost nine feet tall—and was still enlarging! A feral grin spread across her gore-covered face. Her aura pulsed black and red, growing steadily.
More bowls were passed to her, and she swallowed down offering after offering, until there was no more. She was twelve—fifteen!—feet tall, with thighs the size of tree trunks.
Queen Ava was a monster!
Chapter Thirty
Ravenna
Four of the drones came into view bearing a pole slung between them. Strung from it was a thin, brown-skinned boy with long dreadlocks. His aura was a bright indigo.
“That’s Olokum!” Andi said. “I’ve been looking for him for three months! Tami said he was the strongest adept she’d ever met.”
“I thought you got him out?” Elliot said.
“He and his caretaker came back for his mother—but she was taken. We think she was killed over three years ago,” Andi explained.
Olokum struggled against the bonds, but he was bound too tightly. The drones took Olokum to the stone altar and bound his limbs with iron rings set into the stone.
The Prime Minister chanted some words, then poured oil over Olokum. It ignited in purple flames, coating his skin in a sheet of flame.
The Temple Priestess threw double handfuls of ochre powder with bright pink sparks onto Olokum. Great tongues of fire leapt around the child’s body.
Even over the din, they could hear Olokum screaming.
What can I do? How can I help him? Ravenna thought desperately.
The flames didn’t devour the child. The screaming went on and on.
The priests’ chanting got louder. The drones beat and stamped.
The gigantic queen danced to the altar, her body moving in a sinuous rhythm only she could hear. Her eyes were glowing orange fire; the pendant she wore looked like living flame.
She held a long Neolithic-looking dagger up to the sky and chanted something about Adramelech, her words coming faster as she approached to boy.
The chant from her followers grew louder. The priests circled the fire at a mad pace.
Just as Morgaine swung the knife, intending to stab deep into the body of the burning child, Ravenna gathered up all of her power and shoved the queen as hard as she could. Morgaine flew across the back of the stage.
