The gathering, p.1
The Gathering, page 1
For you who make my world deeper, richer, more full of meaning. Lucius, Alex, Morgana, Phoenix.
Fabien, Chloe, and Kara.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
57. Chapter One
58. Chapter Two
Prayer of the Wildwood
Acknowledgments
Join the Grove
About the Author
1
This is where we all begin.
Right where we are.
And what we do is what we must.
The wind up here on the cliffs is strong and cold. I can feel my wolf press against my thigh, and I put down a hand to touch it to his thick fur, even though he is not really there.
Or not there so as those down below getting the boat ready could see. Some might, I suppose, a glimpse or a glimmer, depending on how well their vision is. But the time of seeing is growing to a close. A veil is falling between us and those creatures and peoples of spirit.
The worlds are separating.
They see me, however, the men on the boat at the bottom of the cliff where I stand. One waves a hand in acknowledgement of my presence, but it stutters in mid-air and falls back to his side. Perhaps it has been some time since they have seen one of my kind, for I can see that their respect is tinged with fear. One day, I suspect, that fear will turn the respect to contempt, and with that turn will go much of our magic.
This is not a journey I want to make. If peace were the requisite for life, I would be content to stay where I have been these many last years. But the boat awaits, and a distant shore, and thereafter I know not what – not with any great deal of certainty. I go where the Queen of the Ways directs me to go. I am in her service, and wearing her antlers is not merely for show. Carrying the staff of my rank as her priestess is not an empty gesture. My whole life has been lived at her direction.
And this is no different. The men lead me in silence to a place on the boat they have prepared so that I may sit in as much comfort as possible for the crossing. These rough men are tongue-tied around me. Fearless against the sea in all her moods, they nonetheless cast only the meekest of glances at my tattooed face, at the bones and feathers in my hair. Perhaps they see my wolf, after all, where he presses against my side.
A young woman meets me at our destination and takes me into the forest. It is well that I have a guide, for these woodlands are still thick and seemingly endless. It is many hours before we emerge from the woods to the protection of her community, where I will spend the night.
The chief is courteous, bidding me sit in the circle with them around the fire. His hospitality is generous, yet he is of the newer breed and I am soon forgotten in preference for feasting and tales told boasting of daring exploits against the land and its people. Come the dawn I am glad to move on.
My guide leads me well this day, but silently, as the sun rises higher above the canopy. Soon, we reach the agreed-upon point where she leaves me, and from here I must find my own way.
Except that one such as myself is never alone. My Lady’s deer comes to me, to lead me. And my Queen herself waits at the entrance to a cave when we come to it.
She beckons me into the darkness of my own destiny.
And into a story that crosses time and lifetimes. I did what I could, and things changed despite my efforts. But my magic holds strong even yet, and I have the ability to cross the veil, cross the years, and reach out to those who must learn what I have to teach.
And thus, I reach out across time to you.
2
Ambrose pulled the door open before Morghan could lift her hand to knock.
‘Is it Teresa?’ he asked.
Morghan shook her head. ‘No. Not yet. I’m on my way over there shortly.’
Ambrose nodded, stepping back to let her in. ‘But something has happened?’ He closed the door, shutting out the playful tugging of the late summer wind. It blustered up against the house for a moment, then swept away to pull at the leaves still a deep green on the trees.
Ambrose’s house was cool in the day’s early hour, tucked as it was in amongst the woods. Soon though, he would be burning fires in the grates. ‘I think so,’ Morghan said, then nodded. ‘Yes. You’d best grab a pen and one of your notebooks.’ She paused with a slight smile. ‘And I’d love a good strong cup of coffee.’
Ambrose looked at her for a moment, trying to gauge what had happened, but Morghan’s face was smooth, the smile much as usual. The touch of sadness in it would be over Teresa, he thought. Her passing would leave a terrible hole in all their lives. ‘I’ll get a notebook,’ he said, and gestured down the hallway. ‘You know where everything is.’
She did, and made the coffee methodically, mindfully, feeling every nerve, every sensation of her body as she measured out the grounds, switched on the electric kettle, and listened to the birds outside the window while she waited for it to boil.
‘So,’ Ambrose said, settling at the table, notebook open. ‘Tell me.’
Morghan shook her head and brought the cups to the table, and the steaming coffee press. She looked at the fire, stood in front of the empty grate for a moment, then sat down across from Ambrose. She poured the coffee, the dark liquid swirling in the cups.
‘I travelled this morning,’ she said, finally, looking at him over the rim of her cup. ‘During my usual morning practice.’
‘Don’t you often?’
‘Yes,’ she agreed without having to think about it. ‘I do.’ She gathered the rest of her thoughts.
Ambrose waited. Sipped at his coffee.
‘This one was different, though,’ Morghan said.
Ambrose looked at her, at the pucker of her frown between her clear grey eyes, a colour that matched her hair, and had for the five years since his sister Grainne had died. He supposed they were both getting older. Morghan indeed, had turned fifty the previous spring. He himself was only three years younger.
‘Different in what way?’ he asked.
She closed her eyes, and he noticed the spray of fine lines over her cheeks and missed his sister suddenly. But he still had Morghan, and she was a sister too; that was how he felt about her – that they were still brother and sister.
‘This time I wasn’t sure whether I had stepped into the Otherworld, or into the past.’
Ambrose brought his mind to bear on that, considering it for a long moment while the trees outside the window shook their leafy halos.
‘I’ve done both before, of course – we know that.’ Morghan frowned. ‘This time, though.’ She shook her head and pressed a thumb against the rim of her cup. It grew damp with steam.
‘This time,’ she said, trying again. ‘Well, for starters, it lasted longer than usual and was more coherent.’
Ambrose opened his notebook.
‘You know how it is,’ Morghan said. ‘When you shift to another lifetime, you’re there – you’re the person, wearing their flesh, their life for a moment.’ She paused again, wrapping her fingers around the cup, and letting it heat the skin almost to burning point.
‘And it wasn’t like that?’ Ambrose unscrewed the lid of his pen.
‘No, it was, mostly.’ Morghan lifted her head and gazed out the window. The wind played tug-o-war with the branches of the old oaks that crowded around the stone house. She looked back at Ambrose and bared her teeth.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘I know what is bothering me about it – the difference.’ She frowned. ‘It’s that there was an intention to it – and it wasn’t mine.’ Morghan blinked, remembering. ‘I journey often during my morning practice, that’s true. Most of my practice is to step into the Otherworld, to walk constantly there and here. But this time, I was drawn into something for a purpose.’ Morghan licked her lips. ‘A purpose which was not mine.’
Ambrose hadn’t touched his coffee. He leaned back in his chair and regarded her, contemplating what she’d said.
‘But is not that the same experience you had with The Lady?’ he asked, still unable to say her name, thinking of the woman Morghan had once been from another lifetime, and who had been inextr
Morghan dropped her head into her hands and rubbed her eyes. She shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think so. Catrin walked with me for years before her purpose became clear.’ Morghan cleared her throat. ‘Before Grainne and I met.’ She lifted her head and looked at Ambrose. ‘This…’ She groped for clarification. ‘This feels like something less…intimately personal.’
Now, Ambrose sat up. ‘But this was another lifetime of yours?’
‘Yes,’ Morghan replied. ‘I’m certain of that. This was me, many hundreds of years ago.’ She paused and glanced out the window again. The trees out there – some of them were hundreds of years old. The yew over in the churchyard had seen almost two thousand summers. She looked back at Ambrose, her grey eyes steady and clear.
‘This lifetime was further back than we’ve ever experienced before,’ she said. ‘I don’t know when, exactly, but Neolithic, perhaps.’ Her shoulders sagged slightly. ‘I don’t know. History is your strong point, not mine.’
‘And you believe you were shown this for a purpose?’ Ambrose asked, then shook his head. ‘Of course there was a reason for it.’
Morghan nodded. ‘I know I was shown this for a reason.’ She drew a breath. A burst of wind gusted outside, and Morghan heard the clacking of oak branches against each other. It would be autumn soon.
‘It wasn’t like it usually is when I step into the Otherworld to walk there. Usually, there is an element of exploration; I’m following an inner impulse. But this time it was as though I was replaying something – that I knew what I was doing and there was a whole story behind it.’ She paused.
‘I stepped into a forest,’ she said, continuing, then shook her head. ‘But not my usual forest – I didn’t recognise it at all, and yet there I was, following a faint path as though I knew where I was going.’ She smiled a little. This part of the journey was not what disturbed her.
‘There was a white rabbit and an egg on the path. I picked up both, gave the rabbit a kiss and set it down again – it bounded off into the trees, and I put the egg in my pocket.’ Morghan shrugged. ‘I’m not surprised to see the egg, of course.’ She looked down at the small crystal egg that hung around her neck on a chain, lying against a silver oak leaf and acorn.
Ambrose nodded, but he didn’t say anything. Morghan’s relationship to the symbol of the egg was a complex one, and the significance of it morphed as she achieved one goal and went onto the next.
Morghan continued. ‘Eventually, though, I came to the edge of a high cliff, and looked down into a rough bay, and the water down there was deep green and cold. There was a boat anchored, and I could hear the cries and shouts of the men tending it like they were the screams of gulls on the wind. They saw me up on the cliff and recognised me.’ Morghan stopped talking for a moment to frown. ‘I was someone else, Ambrose, and I could feel her thoughts as well as my own, as though I was sharing her body with her.’ She pursed her lips at the cup of coffee then took a sip and shook her head again. ‘I could feel this woman registering that the men on the boat found her a fearsome sight, with her staff in her hand, and headdress of antlers, and wolf by her side.’
‘Wolf?’ Ambrose questioned.
‘Yes, my big black wolf, just as he is with me now, he was with this other woman then.’ Morghan blew out a breath. ‘Ambrose, this wasn’t just the Otherworld, this was definitely journeying back into the past. I could feel it while I was there – and I’m even more sure of it now I’m back. I was once this woman, lifetimes ago.’
‘But this isn’t unexpected, is it?’ Ambrose asked, picking up his cup finally and sipping at the strong coffee. ‘I mean – this is what we’ve been doing for years now, waking up our other soul-aspects, our other lives.’
A smile curved Morghan’s lips. ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘What’s different about this one, is that it isn’t me doing the reaching out, and the purpose isn’t mine.’ She leaned forward. ‘And I don’t mean in the way that Catrin did it – that was entirely, or almost entirely personal, to heal things with Grainne.’ Morghan took a breath.
They were silent a moment.
‘Perhaps this has something to do with the Grove?’ Ambrose asked.
Morghan leaned back and gazed unseeingly at the ceiling. She was looking instead at the face of the woman she’d been all those lifetimes ago. ‘There’s a purpose, all right,’ she said. ‘There must be – but I don’t know what it is.’ She sighed. Looked across at Ambrose, her closest companion and confidant in the Grove. ‘Something new is beginning,’ she said, not liking how that sounded. Too ominous. She hadn’t meant it to sound that way. The goddess was in charge here, and she had never led them astray. Morghan considered her past life again – the goddess had led the way then too.
Ambrose nodded. He hadn’t written a word yet, but he would. He’d write it all down and then ponder deeply over it.
Morghan got up from the table and went over to the back door, gazing out through the glass at the trees. Mostly oak. She touched a fingertip to the silver leaf hanging from the chain around her neck.
‘Things are happening in this world; all manner of things,’ she said at last, turning to look at Ambrose. ‘They gave me time, I think – my goddess and my Fae Queen – to… get over things. After Grainne. To keep working without Catrin, to become better and stronger. And now, I think it’s time.’
Ambrose looked at her. ‘Time,’ he said, ‘for what?’
Morghan’s gaze slipped to the window. The seasons were changing, Lughnasadha passed, Mabon looming. The great wheel of the year was turning. As it always did.
As it always had.
Morghan closed her eyes for a moment, the face of her past self in her mind. The woman had known she was there, standing on the cliff top looking out from her eyes, sharing her body with her in the boat as the planks creaked against the heave and flex of the sea beneath them. She’d known she was there all along, and yet her mind had been as clear and steady and unperturbed as Morghan suspected it always was.
‘This woman,’ she said, ‘crossed a sea and walked for two days through heavy forest to join a new Grove.’ Morghan opened her eyes and looked at Ambrose. ‘To lead a new Grove,’ she said.
‘Elen of the Ways – to whom I have obviously been in service for a very long time – met her there and ushered her into the earth, into a cave.’
‘A cave in the Otherworld or this world?’ Ambrose interrupted. ‘You know how many caves there are in the Otherworld.’
Morghan did. A great deal of the time she spent in the Otherworld was underground. ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘But there was a circle of women waiting in the central chamber.’ She glanced again at Ambrose, but his face was at rest, simply listening. She gazed outside, remembering.
‘It was warm in the cave, with a central fire. Everyone turned to look at this woman I was, as though they’ve been expecting me. Elen gestured to me, to them.’ Morghan paused. Sighed.
‘She told me – teach them from the heart.’
Morghan reached up to rub at her neck. Then looked at Ambrose.
He looked steadily back at her, hazel eyes suddenly amused.
She shook her head. ‘You’re not supposed to find it funny.’
Ambrose held up a hand. ‘I’m not laughing.’
‘Your eyes are twinkling.’
