Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [225]
“I will, my mother,” said Balan, and bent to embrace her, but she gave a little trembling cry of pain and fear as he moved toward her, and so he only picked up her withered hand and pressed his fingers to it.
“Now I have your medicine for you, Priscilla,” said Viviane. “Say good night, and sleep. . . .”
“I am so weary,” the dying woman whispered, “I shall be glad to sleep . . . bless you, Lady, and your Goddess too. . . .”
“In her name, who gives mercy,” Viviane murmured, and held Priscilla’s head up so that she could swallow.
“I am afraid to drink—it is bitter, and whenever I swallow anything there is pain—” Priscilla whispered.
“I swear to you, my sister, that when you have drunk this, there will be no more pain at all,” Viviane said steadily, and tipped the cup. Priscilla swallowed and raised her weak hand to touch Viviane’s face.
“Kiss me in farewell, too, Lady,” she said, with that ghastly smile again, and Viviane pressed her lips to the skull-like brow.
I have brought life and now I come as the Death-crone. . . . Mother, I do for her only what I would that one might do for me one day, Viviane thought, and shivered again, raising her eyes to meet Balin’s frowning gaze.
“Come,” she said quietly, “let her rest.”
They went out into the other room. Gawan remained behind, his hand in his wife’s; it was only fitting, Viviane thought, that he should remain with her.
The serving-women had set the evening meal and Viviane went to her place and ate and drank, for she was weary after the long ride.
“Have you ridden from Arthur’s court at Caerleon all in this day, my boys?” she asked, then smiled—these “boys” were men!
“Aye, from Caerleon—” Balan said, “and a wretched ride it was, in cold and rain!” He helped himself to salt fish and spread butter on his bread, then handed the wooden dish to Balin. “You are eating nothing, my brother.”
Balin shuddered. “I have not the heart to eat when our mother lies like that. But God be thanked now you have come, Lady, she will soon be all well again, will she not? Your medicines did her so much good last time, it was like a miracle, and now again she will be better, will she not?”
Viviane stared at him—was it possible that he did not understand? She said quietly, “The best end of all is that she might go to join her God in the hereafter, Balin.”
He looked up at her, his ruddy face stricken. “No! She must not die,” he cried. “Lady, tell me that you will help her, that you will not let her die—”
Viviane said severely, “I am not your God, and life and death are not in my keeping, Balin. Would you have her linger in such misery for much longer?”
“But you are skilled in all manner of magic lore,” Balin protested angrily. “Why came you here, if not to cure her again? I heard you say but now, that you could put an end to her pain—”
“There is only one cure for such an illness as has taken your mother,” Viviane said, laying a compassionate hand on Balin’s shoulder, “and that is merciful.”
“Balin, have done,” Balan said, going to put his big callused hand on his foster-brother’s. “Would you truly have her suffer more?”
But Balin jerked up his head and glared at Viviane. “So you used your sorcery tricks to cure her when it was honor to your evil fiend-Goddess,” he shouted, “and now when you can get no more good of it you will let her die—”
“Be still, man,” Balan said, and now his voice was rough and strained. “Marked you not—our mother blessed and kissed her farewell, it was what she wished for—”
But Balin was staring at Viviane, and then he raised his hand as if to strike her. “Judas!” he shouted. “You too betrayed with a kiss—” And he whirled and ran toward the inner room. “What have you done? Murderess! Foul murderess! Father! Father, here’s murder and evil sorcery—!”
Gawan, white-faced,